IN APRIL

The way of Spring with little steepled towns

Is such a shy, transforming sorcery

Of special lights and swift, incredible crowns,

That grave men wonder how such things may be.

No friendly spire, no daily-trodden way

But somehow alters in the April air,

Grown dearer still, on some enchanted day,

For shining garments they have come to wear.

The way the spring comes to our Town is such

That something quickens in the hearts of men,

Turning them lovers at its subtle touch,

Till they must lift their heads again — again —

As lovers do, with frank, adoring eyes,

Where the long street of lifted steeples lies.