How Deep The April Night Is In Its Noon, The Hopeful, Solemn, Many-Murmured Night! The Earth Lies Hushed With Expectation; Bright Above The World'S Dark Border Burns The Moon, Yellow And Large; From Forest Floorways, Strewn With Flowers, And Fields That Tingle With New Birth, The Moist Smell Of The Unimprisoned Earth Comes Up, A Sigh, A Haunting Promise. Soon, Ah, Soon, The Teeming Triumph! At My Feet The River With Its Stately Sweep And Wheel Moves On Slow-Motioned, Luminous, Grey Like Steel. From Fields Far Off Whose Watery Hollows Gleam, Aye With Blown Throats That Make The Long Hours Sweet, The Sleepless Toads Are Murmuring In Their Dream.