Wild honey from various thyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

April is come to us, the air half-haze,
The dimpling clouds, the light that flows about
Like a soft streamlet, bubbling in and out,
That never further than the hazel strays:
April is come, and ever balmier days
Press round to honour her, the lovely rout
And choruses of wild-flowers, cuckoo-shout,
The blossoms rustling through the forest maze;
But yet my heart beats for another spring,
Even for the land from which fair April broke.
At rear of her sweet face a light is shed;
And rising, light of soul, and following
Into the far, far onward, I invoke
And fall on the profoundness of the dead.