TO APRIL

‘ Tis not alone the loveliness of spring

That makes spring lovely; there's a sense behind

Of wonders, deeper than the eye can find

In daffodils, or swallows on the wing;

A subtler pleasure than the sense can bind

When on the dusty roads the rain-drops sing

As March turns April, and the hours bring

Songs to deaf ears, and beauty to the blind.

April is secret nature's treasure room,

Which she unlocks to us who love her well

In magic moments; then indeed we see

The wonder of all spring-times, from the gloom

Of world-beginnings, long ere Adam fell —

And all the beauty of all springs to be.