Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

April, April, child of Mirth
And Sorrow, sweetest face on earth,
Oh! but to name thee fills mine ears
With songs, mine eyes with pleasant tears;
For so thou wert when I was young,
And call'd thee with a lisping tongue,
So wilt thou be when I am old,
And Loves and Fears alike are cold.

II

Though others change, thou wilt not change;
But alway something swift and strange
Like shadows follow'd by the sun
From thee across my heart shall run;
While the tender breath from thee
Sheds life o'er turf and forest tree,
Pours lovenotes thro' the valleys lone,
And brings me back the swallow flown.

III

To pale sad Grief thy presence seems
A shape of light in mist of dreams;
Thou singest into the ears of Joy,
He shakes his locks, the enchanted boy;
And the clouds soar up, and pile
The Vast with silver hill and isle,
Or under golden arches run
Great rivers pouring from the Sun!

IV

Oft as I mark thee stepping thro'
The mist, thy fair hair strung with dew,
Or by the great stair of the Dawn
Come down o'er river, croft, and lawn,
Thy sun and cloud-inwoven vest
Rippling its skirts from East to West,
And glancing on the breeze and light
Dash the wildflowers left and right.

V

Oft as in moments soft and fair
Under the clear and windless air
Thou sleepest, and thy breathings low
In blissful odours come and go;
Oft as in moments proud and wild
Thou spoilest, like a froward child,
The blossoms thou hast just laid on,
And laughest when the ill is done.

VI

Oft as I see thee run and leap
From gusty peaks—or stand and weep
Tears, like Memory's that distil
Hopes of Good thro' days of Ill;
And the peaceful rainbow hides
The thunders on the mountain-sides
With its banner, or in the vale
Robes in rich light the poplars pale.

VII

While thy mavis, blythe and boon,
Cheers the morn and afternoon
With happy melodies, that seem
To turn to sound the sunny beam;
Or the nightingale apart,
Flashes from his human heart
Like earthborn lightning, ceaselessly,
Anguish, Hope, and Victory!

VIII

In southern isles, where thro' balm shades,
The moonlight glides o'er colonnades
Of marble—and the waters gush
In tuneful tears amid the hush
Of budding bowers, that silently
Slope thro' pale glory to the sea,
And in the calm and midnight dim
Seem listening to that threefold hymn.

IX

April, April, child of Mirth
And Sorrow, sweetest face on earth,
Oh! had I such bright notes to make
The wildwoods listen for thy sake,
Oh! had I spells to make my pains
My glory, like thy sun-lit rains,
My days a rainbow's arch, to climb
Far off from tears, and clouds of Time!