The April Rain: For Connie Guion

by EDITH SITWELL

BOY TO GIRL

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?”
    — SACHEVERELL SITWELL