Once more the golden April

Once more the golden April;
Gold are the willow-trees,
And golden the soft murmur
Of the gold-belted bees.

All golden is the sunshine,
And golden are the flowers,
The golden-wing makes music
In the long, golden hours.

All dull gold are the marshes
And red gold are the dunes,
And gold the pollen dust is
Moting the quiet noons.

Even the sea's great sapphire
Is panelled with raw gold.
How else were spring unperished,
A thousand ages old?