April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter,
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!

April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter,
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!

When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, read more

When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,
Opened in airs of June her multiple
OF golden chalices to humming birds
And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

I love the season well
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded read more

I love the season well
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming of storms.

The April winds are magical,
And thrill our tuneful frames;
The garden-walks are passional
read more

The April winds are magical,
And thrill our tuneful frames;
The garden-walks are passional
To bachelors and dames.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
read more

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him;
Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

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.

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
read more

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

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.

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
read more

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
All the mountain-prisoned rivers,
And thy great heart beats and quivers,
To revive the days that were.