April

April, half-clad in flowers and showers,
    Walks, like a blossom, o'er the land;
She smiles at May, and laughing takes
    The rain and sunshine hand in hand.

So gay the dancing of her feet,
    So like a garden her soft breath,
So sweet the smile upon her face,
    She charms the very heart of death.

The young moon in a trance she holds
    Captive in clouds of orchard bloom,
She snaps her fingers at the grave,
    And laughs into the face of doom.

Yet in her gladness lurks a fear,
    In all her mirth there breathes a sigh,
So soon her pretty flowers are gone -
    And ah! she is too young to die!