APRIL has searched the winter land.
And found her petted flowers again ;
She kissed them to unfold their leaves,
She coaxed them with her sun and rain,
And filled the grass with green content,
And made the weeds and clover vain.
Her fairies climb the naked trees,
And set green caps on every stalk ;
Her primroses peep bashfully
From borders of the garden-walk ;
And in the reddened maple-tops
Her blackbird gossips sit and talk.
She greets the patient evergreens,
She gets a store of ancient gold,
Gives tasselled presents to the breeze,
And teaches rivers songs of old, —
Then shakes the trees with stolen March winds,
And laughs to hear the cuckoo scold.
Sometimes, to fret the sober sun,
She pulls the clouds across his face;
But finds a snow-drift in the woods,
Grows meek again, and prays his grace;
Waits till the last white wreath is gone,
And drops arbutus in the place.
Her crocuses and violets
Give all the world a gay “ Good year ! ”
Tall irises grow tired of green,
And get themselves a purple gear;
And tiny buds, that lie asleep
On hill and field, her summons hear.
She rocks the saucy meadow-cups ;
The sunset’s heart anew she dyes ;
She fills the dusk of deepest woods
With vague, sweet sunshine and surprise,
And wakes the periwinkles up
To watch her with their wide, blue eyes.
At last she deems her work is done,
_And finds a willow rocking-chair,
Dons spectacles of apple-buds,
Kerchief and cap of almonds rare,
And sits, a very grandmother,
Shifting her sunshine-needles, there.
And when she sees the deeper suns
That usher in the happy May,
She sighs to think her time is past,
And weeps because she cannot stay,
And leaves her tears upon the grass,
And turns her face, and glides away.