April

 

What happy shouts the children make,

Since April brought them his warm rains!

When this same April showers his hail

At their red checks behind glass panes,

They know he pelts without avail.

 

The blossoms drenched, leaves dripping wet,

'Tis for one moment dark as night;

Then comes a rainbow in the sky,

And Nature laughs, as children might,

Who had a notion once to cry.

 

Now, over rocks and down ravines,

And venturing into mazy nooks,

The Rill doth find his way about;

And into many a cave he looks,

And laughs-as he knew his way out.

 

Who can help laugh at April's ways?

We laugh the more the more he tries

To mimic some old bogey's face

Under the sunshine of such eyes,

Wherein the thoughts give merry chase.

 

They would have fields without young lambs,

Or amber clear of beauty stains;

They would have seas without foam-flowers,

Who would want April free from rains.

And cloudless his capricious hours.

 

He shows my lady's shoes in full,

And makes her form to sway with grace;

Which makes her pout with some annoy,

But soon come dimples in her face,

And music in her voice of joy.

 

The laughing girls, half blind and choked,

Are smothered in their own wild hair;

He took one maiden's yard of it,

When too close I was passing there,

And whipt my cheeks all red with it.

 

Now Violet is on the bank,

And Primrose is not far away;

The Brook doth o'er his margents froth-

The Wind doth drive him sore this day,

And pucks his face with childish wrath.

 

We all must sing when April's here,

Must sing his shine, and sing his shower;

The lark, the throstle, blackbird sing,

Nor shall their throats improve this hour

In many days of practising.

 

To smell Primrose's honey-well,

I would go mad as any bee:

But vain for me come flowers in Spring,

The Violet, Daffodil to see,

With birds that best in April sing.