Home-Thoughts, from Abroad Oh, to be in EnglandNow that April’s there,And whoever wakes in EnglandSees, some morning, unaware,That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheafRound the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,While the chaffinch sings on the orchard boughIn England—now! And after April, when May follows,And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!Hark, where my …
