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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343118" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Proem IV</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343118" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The April rains are past, the frosts austere,<br>The flowers are hungering for the genial sun,<br>The snow 's dissolved, the merry birds are here,<br>And rural labors now are well begun.<br>Hither, from the disturbing, noisy Court<br>I 've flown to this sequestered, quiet scene,<br>To meditate on Love and Love's disport<br>Mid these smooth pastures and the meadows green.<br>Sure 't were no fault of mine, no whispering sin,<br>If these coy leaves he sends me seem to speak<br>All that my heart, caressing, folds within;<br>Nor if I sought to smother, my flushed cheek<br>Would tell too plainly what I cannot hide,<br>Fond fancy disenchant nor set aside.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Amos+Bronson+Alcott">Amos Bronson Alcott</a></strong></div>

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