APRIL

April, half-clad in flowers and showers,

Walks, like a blossom, o'er the land;

She smiles at May, and laughing takes

The rain and sunshine hand in hand.

So gay the dancing of her feet,

So like a garden her soft breath,

So sweet the smile upon her face,

She charms the very heart of death.

The young moon in a trance she holds

Captive in clouds of orchard bloom,

She snaps her fingers at the grave,

And laughs into the face of doom.

Yet in her gladness lurks a fear,

In all her mirth there breathes a sigh,

So soon her pretty flowers are gone —

And ah! she is too young to die!