Now, in the thousandth year,
When April's near,
Now comes it that the great ones of the earth
Take all their mirth
Away with them, far off, to orchard-places,—
Nor they nor Solomon arrayed like these,—
To sun themselves at ease;
To breathe of wind-swept spaces;
To see some miracle of leafy graces;—
To catch the out-flowing rapture of the trees.
Considering the lilies.
— Yes. And when
Shall they consider Men?
( O showering May-clad tree,
Bear yet awhile with me. )