DOWN a spring-scented bridle-path,
The fresh woods hanging over,
And out into the light again,
Across bee-haunted clover,
Our weary horses, side by side,
Advertisement
Drooping their heads together,
Crushed the sweet Mayflower, trailing wide, -
Trampled the fern's green feather.
The April sunlight through the trees,
Across our pathway shining,
Turns dew-drops diamonds on the vines
Among the boughs entwining.
A prettier picture never has
Pencil or pen depicted;
That homeward heartless I should ride
Want to keep up with breaking news?
Subscribe to our email newsletter.
Read more in News
The Yale Freshman Nine.
