Explore "Magdalen Walks" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The little white clouds are racing over the sky, / And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March, / The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch / Sways and swings as the thrush goes hurrying by.
A delicate odour is borne on the wings of the morning breeze, / The odour of deep wet grass, and of brown new-furrowed earth, / The birds are singing for joy of the Spring's glad birth, / Hopping from branch to branch on the rocking trees.
And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring, / And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar, / And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire / Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.
And the plane to the pine-tree is whispering some tale of love / Till it rustles with laughter and tosses its mantle of green, / And the gloom of the wych-elm's hollow is lit with the iris sheen / Of the burnished rainbow throat and the silver breast of a dove.
See! the lark starts up from his bed in the meadow there, / Breaking the gossamer threads and the nets of dew, / And flashing adown the river, a flame of blue!
The kingfisher flies like an arrow, and wounds the air.