Magdalen Walks

THE little white clouds are racing over the sky

And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March

The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch

Sways and swings as the thrush goes hurrying by.

A delicate odour is borne on the wings of the morning breeze

The odour of leaves, and of grass, and of newly up-turned earth

The birds are singing for joy of the Spring's glad birth

Hopping from branch to branch on the rocking trees.