The April Rain: For Connie Guion



From the sly mocking innocence of the azure
Where the amarylled stars are not yet breaking
Out of their sapphire soil the air, a few raindrops are falling —
Shining and falling.
Such is our world, my love —
A bright swift raindrop falling.
The sapphire dews sing like a star; bird-breasted dew
Lies like a bird and flies
In the singing wood and is blown by the bright air
Upon your wood-wild April-soft long hair
That seems the rising of spring constellations —
Aldebaran, Procyon, Sirius
And Cygnus who gave you all his bright swan-plumage. You —
Young Rainbow, risen from the spring, the sap and singing
Of this old world — see the bright raindrops falling
On the blue flames of honey, water-drops of sapphire,
The bluebells (the blue fires of deepest air.)1
Such are the wisdoms of the world, — Heraclitus
Who fell a-weeping and Democritus
Who fell a-laughing, Pyrrho who arose
From Nothing and ended in believing nothing, — fools,
And falling soon:
Only the April rain, my dear,
Only the April rain!
Their fool-begotten wise despair
Dies like the raindrop on the leaf, —
Fading like young joy, old grief,
And soon is gone —
Forgot by the brightness of the air.
But still are your lips the warm heart of all springs —
And all the lost Aprils of the world shine in your hair.”
  1. “Wily beat the bluebells down to find
    How fire and honey are combined?”