  A shower of green gems on my apple tree This first morning of May Has fallen out of the night, to be Herald of holiday— Bright gems of green that, fallen there, Seem fixed and glowing on the air. Until a flutter of blackbird wings Shakes and makes the boughs alive, And the gems are now no frozen things, But apple-green buds to thrive On sap of my May garden, how well The green September globes will tell. Also my pear tree has its buds, But they are silver yellow, Like autumn meadows when the floods Are silver under willow, And here shall long and shapely pears Be gathered while the autumn wears. And there are sixty daffodils Beneath my wall.... And jealousy it is that kills This world when all The spring’s behaviour here is spent To make the world magnificent.
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