Every tear is answered by a blossom,
Every sigh with songs and laughter blent,
April-blooms upon the read more

Every tear is answered by a blossom,
Every sigh with songs and laughter blent,
April-blooms upon the breezes toss them.
April knows her own, and is content.

The first of April, some do say
Is set apart for All Fools' day;
But why the read more

The first of April, some do say
Is set apart for All Fools' day;
But why the people call it so,
Nor I, nor they themselves, do know.

The children with the streamlets sing,
When April stops at last her weeping;
And every happy growing read more

The children with the streamlets sing,
When April stops at last her weeping;
And every happy growing thing
Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.

The lyric sound of laughter
Fills all the April hills
The joy-song of the crocus,
read more

The lyric sound of laughter
Fills all the April hills
The joy-song of the crocus,
The mirth of daffodils.

Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, read more

Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life's golden fruit is shed.

A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and read more

A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue--
An April day in the morning.

Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day!

Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day!

Now the noisy winds are still;
April's coming up the hill!
All the spring is in her read more

Now the noisy winds are still;
April's coming up the hill!
All the spring is in her train,
Led by shining ranks of rain;
Pit, pat, patter, clatter,
Sudden sun and clatter patter!
. . . .
All things ready with a will,
April's coming up the hill!

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparelled April on the heel
Of limping Winter read more

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparelled April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh fennel buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house.