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Having nothing else but these besides
My fancy takes a turn upon the wind
That scarce a breath so sweet as April brings
Daring to pipe with frost still in the wings.
Some call it cruel that bids the heart awake
Who find an empty house begin to ache
A month so saucy yet so subtle brings
Rich warm desire for the buds of Spring.
Plays hide and seek with old men half asleep
Half in the heart as well as what is seen
Who start and shout and rise up to their feet
But aren't sure if it is all a dream.
She comes to tease not vex the frosty heart
Which secretly finds pleasure in her grace
And least of all desires her to part
Yet knows no other way of saving face.
Yet April is and always will be free
Her touch so light her enemies eludes
As well take angels into court as she
Themselves not proof against her shifting moods
And those who welcome her she floods
With fullness more than meets the eye
And leaves for evidence to fools
Nothing but the empty sky.
She's only half reality
And stands accused of sorcery
And they are right who say that she
Is up to more than we can see --
And holds whole forests in her train
And greenwood and the summer rain
Yet wouldn't they feel greater pain
The year they miss her strange refrain?
Then get with child a mandrake root
And words to errant fancy suit
And loud pipe twain both April's lay
And Spring that doth approach this way! |
