Golden Histories, etc :: :: University of Virginia Library

Young April treads light in the woodland,
And smiles through her tears in the lane.
And the sun of the old, old spring-tide
Falls warm on the cheek again.

The breath of the old dead breezes
That blew in the face of the boy,
Floats back from my life's faded meadows,
With whispers of Hope and of Joy.

The larks that I heard in my childhood,
Hid deep in the bending blue,
Sing yet of the same old Heaven,
Till that Heaven comes almost true.

Sing yet of the loving and longing
For the beauty of far-off skies,
Of the pleasures that spring like flowers,
Round the steps of the gentle and wise,

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And I wake from my dread despairing,
Like a trembling child at night,
And lo! through the darkness of sorrow,
Hope walks with her calm glad light.

And still as she passes by me,
I see my pale dreams revive,
And the joy and the courage of spring-time
Makes the dead, cold heart alive.

O world! thou art surely youthful!
But the sapling shall grow a tree,
Thou, too, hast a soft green April
Shall bring the great summer to thee.