oh , there was nothing sorrowful in flowers wooing the glances of an april sun , or apple blossoms opening one by one their crimson bosoms-or the twittered words and warbled sentences of merry birds ; - or the small glitter and the humming wings of golden flies and many colored things- oh , these were nothing sad-nor to see her , sitting beneath the comfortable stir of early leaves-casting the playful grace of moving shadows in so fair a face- nor in her brow serene-nor in the love of her mild eyes drinking the light above with a long thirst-nor in her gentle smile- nor in her hand that shone blood-red the while she raised it in the sun .