All the golden air is full of balm and bloom
  Where the hawthorns line the shelving dyke with flowers.
  Joyous children born of April's happiest hours,
  High and low they laugh and lighten, knowing their doom
  Bright as brief--to bless and cheer they know not whom,
  Heed not how, but washed and warmed with suns and showers
  Smile, and bid the sweet soft gradual banks and bowers
  Thrill with love of sunlit fire or starry gloom.
  All our moors and lawns all round rejoice; but here
  All the rapturous resurrection of the year
  Finds the radiant utterance perfect, sees the word
  Spoken, hears the light that speaks it. Far and near,
  All the world is heaven: and man and flower and bird
  Here are one at heart with all things seen and heard.