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    The Two April Mornings

    by William Wordsworth
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    Page 1 of 1
    We walked along, while bright and red
    Uprose the morning sun;
    And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said
    'The will of God be done!'

    A village schoolmaster was he,
    With hair of glittering grey;
    As blithe a man as you could see
    On a spring holiday.

    And on that morning, through the grass
    And by the steaming rills
    We travelled merrily, to pass
    A day among the hills.

    'Our work,' said I, 'was well begun;
    Then, from thy breast what thought,
    Beneath so beautiful a sun,
    So sad a sigh has brought?'

    A second time did Matthew stop;
    And fixing still his eye
    Upon the eastern mountain-top,
    To me he made reply:

    'Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
    Brings fresh into my mind
    A day like this, which I have left
    Full thirty years behind.

    'And just above yon slope of corn
    Such colours, and no other,
    Were in the sky, that April morn,
    Of this the very brother.

    'With rod and line I sued the sport
    Which that sweet season gave,
    And, to the churchyard come, stopped short
    Beside my daughter's grave.

    'Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
    The pride of all the vale;
    And then she sang: -she would have been
    A very nightingale.

    'Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
    And yet I loved her more -
    For so it seemed, -than till that day
    I e'er had loved before.

    'And turning from her grave, I met
    Beside the churchyard yew
    A blooming girl, whose hair was wet
    With points of morning dew.

    'A basket on her head she bare;
    Her brow was smooth and white:
    To see a child so very fair,
    It was a pure delight!

    'No fountain from its rocky cave
    E'er tripped with foot so free;
    She seemed as happy as a wave
    That dances on the sea.

    'There came from me a sigh of pain
    Which I could ill confine;
    I looked at her, and looked again:
    And did not wish her mine!'

    - Matthew is in his grave, yet now
    Methinks I see him stand
    As that moment, with a bough
    Of wilding in his hand.
    Page 1 of 1
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