WHAT YOU WILL

April rain, delicious weeping,

Washes white bones from the grave,

Long enough have they been sleeping.

They are cleansed, and now they crave

Once more on the earth to gather

Pleasure from the springtime weather.

The pine trees and the long dark grass

Feed on what is placed below.

Think you not that there doth pass

In them something we did know?

This spell — well, friends, I greet ye once again

With joy — but with a most unuttered pain.