SPINNING IN APRIL
by: Josephine Preston Peabody
- OON in heaven's
garden, among the clouds that wander,
- Crescent moon so young to see, above the April ways,
- Whiten, bloom not yet, not yet, within the twilight yonder;
- All my spinning is not done, for all the loitering days.
- Oh, my heart has two wild wings that ever would be flying!
- Oh, my heart's a meadow-lark that ever would be free!
- Well it is that I must spin until the light is dying;
- Well it is the little wheel must turn all day for me!
- All the hill-tops beckon, and beyond the western meadows
- Something calls for ever, calls me ever, low and clear:
- A little tree as young as I, the coming summer shadows,--
- The voice of running waters that I always thirst to hear.
- Oftentime the plea of it has set my wings a-beating;
- Oftentime it coaxes, as I sit weary-wise,
- Till the wild life hastens out to wild things all entreating,
- And leaves me at the spinning-wheel with dark, unseeing eyes.
MORE POEMS BY JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
"Spinning in April" is
reprinted from Modern American Poetry. Ed. Louis Untermeyer.
New York: Harcourt, Brace and Howe, 1919.