She wanders in the April woods

That glisten with the fallen shower;

She leans her face against the buds

She stops, she stoops, she plucks a flower

She feels the ferment of the hour:

She broodeth when the ringdove broods;

The sun and flying clouds have power

Upon her cheek and changing moods

She cannot think she is alone

As o'er her senses warmly steal

Floods of unrest she fears to own

And almost dreads to feel

Among thе summer woodlands wide

Anew shе roams, no more alone;

The joy she fear'd is at her side

Spring's blushing secret now is known

The primrose and its mates have flown

The thrush's ringing note hath died;

But glancing eye and glowing tone

Fall on her from her god, her guide

She knows not, asks not, what the goal

She only feels she moves towards bliss

And yields her pure unquestioning soul

To touch and fondling kiss

And still she haunts those woodland ways

Though all fond fancy finds there now

To mind of spring or summer days

Are sodden trunk and songless bough

The past sits widow'd on her brow

Homeward she wends with wintry gaze

To walls that house a hollow vow

To hearth where love hath ceas'd to blaze:

Watches the clammy twilight wane

With grief too fix'd for woe or tear;

And, with her forehead 'gainst the pane

Envies the dying year