Tell Of England At Spring

Never mind where I’ve been or gone
There is no where so delicious
As England before spring
Long nights gone and longer days to come
The mid-evening bathed in gold
The gnarled brown lengths bloom once more
And we are that promise;
Cold will come again
But not before the warmth
So tell a passer by
Go see Avalon by evening’s light
Her meadows, her woods, her winding clear streams

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