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April Days
Days of witchery, subtly sweet,
When every hill and tree finds heart,
When winter and spring like lovers meet
In the mist of noon and part -
In the April days.
Nights when the wood frogs faintly peep
Once - twice - and then are still,
And the woodpeckers’ martial voices sweep
Like bugle notes from hill to hill -
Through the pulseless haze.
Days when the soil is warm with rain,
And through the wood the shy wind steals,
Rich with the pine and the poplar smell,
And the joyous earth like a dancer reels -
Trough april days.
