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April Poems

Table of Contents

  1. A Song for April by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  2. An April Adoration by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  3. April by William Stanley Braithwaite
  4. April by Nathaniel P. Willis
  5. April Day by Caroline Anne Southey
  6. The First of April by Mortimer Collins
  7. April by Emily Dickinson
  8. Aprilian by Bliss Carman
  9. "April Now in Morning Clad" by Bliss Carman
  10. Under the April Moon by Bliss Carman
  11. An April Morning by Bliss Carman
  12. Spring Gladness by John Burroughs
  13. Early April by John Burroughs
  14. Resurgam by Bliss Carman
  15. At the Gates of Spring by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  16. April by Rebecca Hey
  17. Sonnet To The Month of April by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott
  18. April Showers by Mary E. Wilkins
  19. April! April! Are You Here? by Dora Read Goodale
  20. The Soul of April by Bliss Carman
  21. April by Margaret E. Sangster
  22. April Rain by Mathilde Blind
  23. One April Morn by John B. Tabb
  24. April's Dream by William Stanley Braithwaite

  1. A Song for April

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    List! list! The buds confer.
    This noonday they've had news of her;
    The south bank has had views of her;
    The thorn shall exact his dues of her;
    The willows adream
    By the freshet stream
    Shall ask what boon they choose of her.

    Up! up! The world's astir;
    The would-be green has word of her;
    Root and germ have heard of her,
    Coming to break
    Their sleep and wake
    Their hearts with every bird of her.

    See! see! How swift concur
    Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her,
    A-wondering what became of her;
    The fields flower at the flame of her;
    The glad air sings
    With dancing wings
    And the silvery shrill acclaim of her.

  2. An April Adoration

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Sang the sun rise on an amber morn —
    'Earth, be glad! An April day is born.

    'Winter's done, and April's in the skies,
    Earth, look up with laughter in your eyes!'

    Putting off her dumb dismay of snow,
    Earth bade all her unseen children grow.

    Then the sound of growing in the air
    Rose to God a liturgy of prayer;

    And the thronged succession of the days
    Uttered up to God a psalm of praise.

    Laughed the running sap in every vein,
    Laughed the running flurries of warm rain,

    Laughed the life in every wandering root,
    Laughed the tingling cells of bud and shoot.

    God in all the concord of their mirth
    Heard the adoration-song of Earth.

  3. April

    by William Stanley Braithwaite

    At morn when light mine eyes unsealed
    I gazed upon the open field;
    The rain had fallen in the night —
    The landscape in the new day's light
    A countenance of grace revealed
    Upon the meadow, wood and height.

    The sun's light was a smile of gold,
    Ere shut by sudden fold on fold
    Of surging, showering clouds from view;
    No sooner hid than it broke through
    A tearful smile upon the wold
    Where earth reflected heaven's blue.

    Each separate divided part
    Of day, was as the threefold art
    Of God, who dreamed three dreams and made
    The morning, noon, and night parade
    In ever changing guise athwart
    The day's hours, in His dreams arrayed.

    The sky was as a canvas spun
    To paint the new spring's nocturns on;
    A blended melody of tints —
    The sea's hue, and the myriad hints
    Of garden-closes, when the sun
    Hath stamped the work of nature's mints.

  4. April

    by Nathaniel P. Willis

    "A violet by a mossy stone
    Half hidden from the eye,
    Fair as a star, when only one
    Is shining in the sky."
    - WORDSWORTH.

    I have found violets. April hath come on,
    And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
    Falls in the beaded drops of summer time.
    You may hear birds at morning, and at eve
    The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
    Cooing upon the caves, and drawing in
    His beautiful bright neck, and, from the hills,
    A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea
    Tells the release of waters, and the earth
    Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves
    Are lifted by the grass; and so I know
    That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard
    The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.
    Take of my violets! I found them where
    The liquid South stole o'er them, on a bank
    That leaned to running water. There's to me
    A daintiness about these early flowers
    That touches me like poetry. They blow
    With such a simple loveliness among
    The common herbs of pasture, and breathe out
    Their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts
    Whose beatings are too gentle for the world.
    I love to go in the capricious days
    Of April and hunt violets; when the rain
    Is in the blue cups trembling, and they nod
    So gracefully to the kisses of the wind.
    It may be deem'd too idle, but the young
    Read nature like the manuscript of heaven,
    And call the flowers its poetry. Go out!
    Ye spirits of habitual unrest,
    And read it when the "fever of the world"
    Hath made your hearts impatient, and, if life
    Hath yet one spring unpoisoned, it will be
    Like a beguiling music to its flow,
    And you will no more wonder that I love
    To hunt for violets in the April time.

  5. April Day

    by Caroline Anne Southey

    All day the low-hung clouds have dropped
    Their garnered fullness down;
    All day that soft, gray mist hath wrapped
    Hill, valley, grove, and town.

    There has not been a sound to-day
    To break the calm of nature;
    Nor motion, I might almost say,
    Of life or living creature;

    Of waving bough, or warbling bird,
    Or cattle faintly lowing;
    I could have half believed I heard
    The leaves and blossoms growing.

    I stood to hear—I love it well—
    The rain's continuous sound;
    Small drops, but thick and fast they fell,
    Down straight into the ground.

    For leafy thickness is not yet
    Earth's naked breast to screen,
    Though every dripping branch is set
    With shoots of tender green.

    Sure, since I looked, at early morn,
    Those honeysuckle buds
    Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
    Hath put forth larger studs.

    That lilac's cleaving cones have burst,
    The milk-white flowers revealing;
    Even now upon my senses first
    Methinks their sweets are stealing.

    The very earth, the steamy air,
    Is all with fragrance rife!
    And grace and beauty everywhere
    Are flushing into life.

    Down, down they come, those fruitful stores,
    Those earth-rejoicing drops!
    A momentary deluge pours,
    Then thins, decreases, stops.

    And ere the dimples on the stream
    Have circled out of sight,
    Lo! from the west a parting gleam
    Breaks forth of amber light.

    * * * * * * *

    But yet behold—abrupt and loud,
    Comes down the glittering rain;
    The farewell of a passing cloud,
    The fringes of its train.

  6. The First of April

    by Mortimer Collins

    Now if to be an April-fool
    Is to delight in the song of the thrush,
    To long for the swallow in air's blue hollow,
    And the nightingale's riotous music-gush,
    And to paint a vision of cities Elysian
    Out away in the sunset-flush —
    Then I grasp my flagon and swear thereby,
    We are April-fools, my Love and I.

    And if to be an April-fool
    Is to feel contempt for iron and gold,
    For the shallow fame at which most men aim —
    And to turn from worldlings cruel and cold
    To God in his splendor, loving and tender,
    And to bask in his presence manifold —
    Then by all the stars in his infinite sky,
    We are April-fools, my Love and I.

  7. April

    by Emily Dickinson

    An altered look about the hills;
    A Tyrian light the village fills;
    A wider sunrise in the dawn;
    A deeper twilight on the lawn;
    A print of a vermilion foot;
    A purple finger on the slope;
    A flippant fly upon the pane;
    A spider at his trade again;
    An added strut in chanticleer;
    A flower expected everywhere;
    An axe shrill singing in the woods;
    Fern-odors on untravelled roads, —
    All this, and more I cannot tell,
    A furtive look you know as well,
    And Nicodemus' mystery
    Receives its annual reply.

  8. Aprilian

    by Bliss Carman

    When April came with sunshine
    And showers and lilac bloom,
    My heart with sudden gladness
    Was like a fragrant room.

    Her eyes were heaven's own azure,
    As deep as God's own truth.
    Her soul was made of rapture
    And mystery and youth.

    She knew the sorry burden
    Of all the ancient years,
    Yet could not dwell with sadness
    And memory and tears.

    With her there was no shadow
    Of failure nor despair,
    But only loving joyance.
    O Heart, how glad we were!

  9. "April Now in Morning Clad"

    by Bliss Carman

    April now in morning clad
    Like a gleaming oread,
    With the south wind in her voice,
    Comes to bid the world rejoice.

    With the sunlight on her brow,
    Through her veil of silver showers,
    April o'er New England now
    Trails her robe of woodland flowers,—

    Violet and anemone;
    While along the misty sea,
    Pipe at lip, she seems to blow
    Haunting airs of long ago.

  10. Under the April Moon

    by Bliss Carman

    Oh, well the world is dreaming
    Under the April moon,
    Her soul in love with beauty,
    Her senses all a-swoon!

    Pure hangs the silver crescent
    Above the twilight wood,
    And pure the silver music
    Wakes from the marshy flood.

    O Earth, with all thy transport,
    How comes it life should seem
    A shadow in the moonlight,
    A murmur in a dream?

  11. An April Morning

    by Bliss Carman

    Once more in misted April
    The world is growing green.
    Along the winding river
    The plumey willows lean.

    Beyond the sweeping meadows
    The looming mountains rise,
    Like battlements of dreamland
    Against the brooding skies.

    In every wooded valley
    The buds are breaking through,
    As though the heart of all things
    No languor ever knew.

    The golden-wings and bluebirds
    Call to their heavenly choirs.
    The pines are blued and drifted
    With smoke of brushwood fires.

    And in my sister's garden
    Where little breezes run,
    The golden daffodillies
    Are blowing in the sun.

  12. Spring Gladness

    by John Burroughs

    Now clap your hands together,
    For this is April weather,
    And love again is born;
    The west wind is caressing,
    The turf your feet are pressing
    Is thrilling to the morn.

    To see the grass a-greening,
    To find each day new meaning
    In sky and tree and ground;
    To see the waters glisten,
    To linger long, and listen
    To every wakening sound!

    To feel your nerves a-tingle
    By grackle's strident jingle
    Or starling's brooky call,
    Or phcebe's salutation,
    Or sparrow's proclamation
    Atop the garden wall!

    The maple trees are thrilling,
    Their eager juices spilling
    In many a sugar-camp.
    I see the buckets gleaming,
    I see the smoke and steaming,
    I smell the fragrant damp.

    The mourning-dove is cooing
    The husky crow is wooing,
    I hear his raucous vows;
    The robin's breast is glowing,
    Warm hues of earth are showing
    Behind the early plows.

    I love each April token
    And every word that's spoken
    In field or grove or vale,—
    The hyla's twilight chorus,
    The clanging geese that o'er us
    Keep well the northern trail.

    Oh, soon with heaping measures
    The spring will bring her treasures
    To gladden every breast;
    The sky with warmth a-beaming,
    The earth with love a-teeming —
    In life itself new zest!

  13. Early April

    by John Burroughs

    Behold the robin's breast aglow
    As on the lawn he seeks bis game;
    His cap a darker hue doth show,
    His bill a yellow flame.

    Now in the elm-tops see the swarm
    Of swelling buds like bees in May;
    The maples, too, have tints blood warm,
    And willows show a golden ray.

    In sunny woods the mould makes room
    For liver leaf to ope her eye;
    A tiny firmament of bloom
    With stars upon a mimic sky.

    Forth from the hive go voyaging bees,
    Cruising far each sunny hour;
    Scenting sap 'mid maple trees,
    Or sifting bread from sawdust flour.

    Up from the marsh a chorus shrill
    Of piping frogs swells in the night;
    The meadowlark shows flashing quill
    As o'er brown fields she takes her flight.

    Now "mourning-cloak" takes up her clew
    And dances through the sunny glades;
    And sluggish turtles painted new
    Are creeping forth where bittern wades.

    Now screaming hawks soar o'er the wood,
    And sparrows red haunt bushy banks;
    The starlings gossip, "Life is good,"
    And grackles pass in sable ranks.

    The rye-fields show a tender hue
    Of fresh'ning green amid the brown,
    And pussy-willow's clad anew
    Along the brook in silver gown.

    The purple finch hath found his tongue,
    From out the elm tree what a burst!
    Now once again all things are young,
    Renewed by love as at the first.

  14. Resurgam

    by Bliss Carman

    Lo, now comes the April pageant
    And the Easter of the year.
    Now the tulip lifts her chalice,
    And the hyacinth his spear;
    All the daffodils and jonquils
    With their hearts of gold are here.
    Child of the immortal vision,
    What hast thou to do with fear?

    When the summons wakes the impulse,
    And the blood beats in the vein,
    Let no grief thy dream encumber,
    No regret thy thought detain.
    Through the scented bloom-hung valleys,
    Over tillage, wood and plain,
    Comes the soothing south wind laden
    With the sweet impartial rain.

    All along the roofs and pavements
    Pass the volleying silver showers
    , To unfold the hearts of humans
    And the frail unanxious flowers.
    Breeding fast in sunlit places,
    Teeming life puts forth her powers,
    And the migrant wings come northward
    On the trail of golden hours.

    Over intervale and upland
    Sounds the robin's interlude
    From his tree-top spire at evening
    Where no unbeliefs intrude.
    Every follower of beauty
    Finds in the spring solitude
    Sanctuary and persuasion
    Where the mysteries still brood.

    Now the bluebird in the orchard,
    A warm sighing at the door,
    And the soft haze on the hillside,
    Lure the houseling to explore
    The perennial enchanted
    Lovely world and all its lore;
    While the early tender twilight
    Breathes of those who come no more.

    By full brimming river margins
    Where the scents of brush fires blow,
    Through the faint green mist of springtime,
    Dreaming glad-eyed lovers go,
    Touched with such immortal madness
    Not a thing they care to know
    More than those who caught life's secret
    Countless centuries ago.

    In old Egypt for Osiris,
    Putting on the green attire,
    With soft hymns and choric dancing
    They went forth to greet the fire
    Of the vernal sun, whose ardor
    His earth children could inspire,
    And the ivory flutes would lead them
    To the slake of their desire.

    In remembrance of Adonis
    Did the Dorian maidens sing
    Linus songs of joy and sorrow
    For the coming back of spring,—
    Sorrow for the wintry death
    Of each irrevocable thing,
    Joy for all the pangs of beauty
    The returning year could bring.

    Now the priests and holy women
    With sweet incense, chant and prayer,
    Keep His death and resurrection
    Whose new love bade all men share
    Immortality of kindness,
    Living to make life more fair.
    Wakened to such wealth of being,
    Who would not arise and dare?

    Seeing how each new fulfilment
    Issues at the call of need
    From infinitudes of purpose
    In the core of soul and seed,
    Who shall set the bounds of puissance
    Or the formulas of creed?
    Truth awaits the test of beauty,
    Good is proven in the deed.

    Therefore, give thy spring renascence,—
    Freshened ardor, dreams and mirth,—
    To make perfect and replenish
    All the sorry fault and dearth
    Of the life from whose enrichment
    Thine aspiring will had birth;
    Take thy part in the redemption
    Of thy kind from bonds of earth.

    So shalt thou, absorbed in beauty,
    Even in this mortal clime
    Share the life that is eternal,
    Brother to the lords of time,—
    Virgil, Raphael, Gautama,—
    Builders of the world sublime.
    Yesterday was not earth's evening
    Every morning is our prime.

    All that can be worth the rescue
    From oblivion and decay, —
    Joy and loveliness and wisdom, —
    In thyself, without dismay
    Thou shalt save and make enduring
    Through each word and act, to sway
    The hereafter to a likeness
    Of thyself in other clay.

    Still remains the peradventure,
    Soul pursues an orbit here
    Like those unreturning comets,
    Sweeping on a vast career,
    By an infinite directrix,
    Focussed to a finite sphere,—
    Nurtured in an earthly April,
    In what realm to reappear?

  15. At the Gates of Spring

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    With April here,
    And first thin green on the awakening bough,
    What wonderful things and dear,
    My tired heart to cheer,
    At last appear!
    Colours of dream afloat on cloud and tree,
    So far, so clear,
    A spell, a mystery;
    And joys that thrill and sing,
    New come on mating wing,
    The wistfulness and ardour of the spring—
    And Thou!

  16. April

    by Rebecca Hey

    Capricious April! when we fain would find
    A fitting emblem for inconstancy,
    Thy changeful moods such emblem well supply;
    For thy wild sallies sure no laws can bind,
    No counsel tame. One moment, and the wind
    Brings storms of sleet and "blossom-bruising hail;"
    The next, not Summer breathes a softer gale,
    Or looks upon us with a glance more kind.
    And lo! to greet thee in thy alter'd mood,
    Glad Nature hastes her fairest wreaths to bring,
    Blithe daisy, nodding cowslip, and each bud
    That owes allegiance to the early Spring.
    May such sweet wooing chase thy frowns away,
    And be thy smile as constant as 'tis gay!

  17. Sonnet To The Month of April

    by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott

    Spring has arriv'd and throws her garland round'
    O'er hill and dale' the varied buds are found;
    O'er fields, o'er woods, her sweet perfume she bears,
    And every grove in partial beauty wears.

    The blue birds fly, to catch the waving flower,
    And sing, and twitter in the garden bower;
    While wakeful turtles, sing in all our groves,
    And warbling songsters meet their happy loves.

    Sky, air, and water, give the zephyrs breath,
    And warmer suns refresh the smiling heath;
    The sighing winds are in the distance heard,
    And softer breezes now become endear'd.

    Hope now selects a myrtle, fast entwin'd
    With blushing roses, in her wreath to bind;
    And near her cottage, hangs the lonely flowers,
    Which bloom in beauty—bless'd with April showers.

    All nature smiles, delighted, with a blush
    On every shrub, on every thorny bush;
    The varied tinge of glowing beauties rise,
    While in the tuft, the hidden violet lies.

    So when the winter of the tomb is o'er,
    And cruel death has power to kill no more;
    Then we may rise to the perennial spring,
    That brings immortal praises to our King.

  18. April Showers

    by Mary E. Wilkins

    There fell an April shower, one night:
    Next morning, in the garden-bed,
    The crocuses stood straight and gold:
    "And they have come," the children said.

    There fell an April shower, one night:
    Next morning, thro' the woodland spread
    The Mayflowers, pink and sweet as youth:
    "And they are come," the children said.

    There fell an April shower, one night:
    Next morning, sweetly, overhead,
    The blue-birds sung, the blue-birds sung:
    "And they have come," the children said.

  19. April! April! Are You Here?

    by Dora Read Goodale

    April! April! are you here?
    Oh, how fresh the wind is blowing!
    See! the sky is bright and clear,
    Oh, how green the grass is growing!
    April! April! are you here?

    April! April! is it you?
    See how fair the flowers are springing!
    Sun is warm and brooks are clear,
    Oh, how glad the birds are singing!
    April! April! is it you?

    April! April! you are here!
    Though your smiling turn to weeping,
    Though your skies grow cold and drear,
    Though your gentle winds are sleeping,
    April! April! you are here!

  20. The Soul of April

    by Bliss Carman

    Over the wintry threshold
    Who comes with joy to-day,
    So frail, yet so enduring,
    To triumph o'er dismay?

    Ah, quick her tears are springing,
    And quickly they are dried,
    For sorrow walks before her,
    But gladness walks beside.

    She comes with gusts of laughter,—
    The music as of rills;
    With tenderness and sweetness,—
    The wisdom of the hills.

    Her hands are strong to comfort,
    Her heart is quick to heed.
    She knows the signs of sadness,
    She knows the voice of need.

    There is no living creature,
    However poor or small,
    But she will know its trouble,
    And hasten to its call.

    Oh, well they fare forever,
    By mighty dreams possessed,
    Whose hearts have lain a moment
    On that eternal breast.

  21. April

    by Margaret E. Sangster

    I had not meant to love again—all that was lost to me,
    For I had felt love's fear and pain, as well as ecstasy;
    I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed away the key.

    All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming fire,
    And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched the flames leap higher,
    To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red desire.

    And then mad April came again—I felt the breezes blowing,
    And I forgot the fear, the pain.... I only knew that, glowing,
    In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were growing.

    And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could defeat him!)
    My vagrant love crept back to me... I did not mean to greet him;
    But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to meet him!

  22. April Rain

    by Mathilde Blind

    The April rain, the April rain,
    Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
    Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
    And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
    And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
    The cuckoo through the April rain
    Calls once again.

    The April sun, the April sun,
    Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
    And in grey shaw and woodland dun
    The little leaves spring forth and tender
    Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
    For warmth towards the April sun,
    One after one.

    And between shower and shine hath birth
    The rainbow's evanescent glory;
    Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!
    Frail symbol of our human story,
    It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
    The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
    Like Life on earth.

  23. One April Morn

    by John B. Tabb

    Twin violets amid the dew
    Unfolded soft their petals blue
    To find the winter's dream come true,
    One April morn.

    Two warmer, softer, violet eyes,
    Beneath the selfsame April skies,
    Fulfilled a dream of paradise,
    One April morn.

    Dawn-blossoms of a changeful day,
    Ye would not till the twilight stay,
    But, ere the noontide, sped away,
    One April morn.

  24. April's Dream

    by William Stanley Braithwaite

    The stream's breath tastes of the wood's perfume,
    Filled are the woods with foam:
    And the sea like a sheet 'neath the summer noon,
    With the languorous swerve runs home.
    The beat of a pulse the warm sun stirs
    In the air, the sea and stream,
    Beckons the heart-and the soul allures
    Forth, into April's dream.