Is It April?

No, this is January, dear,
    The almanac's untrue;
For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear,
In sleet and snow and atmosphere,
Will be the monarch of the year,
    And terror, too.

"Is it a blessing in disguise?"
    Of course, things always are;
But Arctic blasts with ardent skies
Somehow do not quite harmonize,
That try to cheat by weather-lies
    The calendar.

Old Janus must be double-faced;
    He promised long ago
The maple syrup not to taste,
Nor steal the roses from the waist
Of one, a damsel fair and chaste
    As April snow.

O winter of our discontent!
    Your reign was for a day;
Behold! a scene of wonderment,
A thousand tongues are eloquent,
For spring, in bud and bloom and scent,
    Is on the way.

Hattie Howard

Hattie Howard is recognized for her significant contributions to 19th-century American poetry. Her work, characterized by its wit and lyrical quality, often explored themes of nature, love, and social issues. She had a unique voice that resonated with many of her contemporaries and continues to be appreciated for its depth and artistry.

Hattie Howard

Passer Le Temps.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

The Charity Ball.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

Perfect Character.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

Christmas at Church.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

English

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January, 1885.

These winter days are passing fair!
    As if a breath of spring
Had permeated all the air,
    And touched each living thing
With thankfulness for such a boon -
    Discounting with a scoff
The almanac's report that "June
    Is yet a long way off!"

We quarrel with the calendar -
    For May has been misplaced -
And doubt the tale oracular
    Of "Janus, double-faced;"
For this "ethereal mildness" looks
    Toward shadowy delights
Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks,
    Of coming thermal nights.

Let robes diaphanous succeed
    Dense garments made of fur,
And overcoats maintain the lead -
    Among the things that were!
The wisely-rented sealskin sacque,
    By many a dame possessed,
Be quickly relegated back
    T...

Hattie Howard

To Flora.

When April woke the drowsy flowers,
    And vagrant odours thronged the breeze,
And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers,
    And daisies flashed along the leas,
And faint arbutus strove among
    Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise,
And nature's sweetly jubilant song
    Went murmuring up the sunny skies,
Into this cheerful world you came,
And gained by right your vernal name.

I think the springs have changed of late,
    For "Arctics" are my daily wear,
The skies are turned to cold grey slate,
    And zephyrs are but draughts of air;
But you make up whate'er we lack,
    When we, too rarely, come together,
More potent than the almanac,
    You bring the ideal April weather;
When you are with us we defy
The blustering air, the lowering sk...

John Hay

On A December Day

I.

This is the sweetness of an April day;
    The softness of the spring is on the face
    Of the old year. She has no natural grace,
But something comes to her from far away

Out of the Past, and on her old decay
    The beauty of her childhood you can trace.--
    And yet she moveth with a stormy pace,
And goeth quickly.--Stay, old year, oh, stay!

We do not like new friends, we love the old;
    With young, fierce, hopeful hearts we ill agree;
But thou art patient, stagnant, calm, and cold,
    And not like that new year that is to be;--
        Life, promise, love, her eyes may fill, fair child!
        We know the past, and will not be beguiled.

II.

Yet the free heart will not be captive long;
    And if she changes often...

George MacDonald

An April Day

        When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
        The first flower of the plain.

        I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
        The coming-on of storms.

        From the earth's loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
        The drooping tree revives.

        The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
        The forest openings.

        When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope t...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The First Quarter

I.

January

Shaggy with skins of frost-furred gray and drab,
Harsh, hoary hair framing a bitter face,
He bends above the dead Year's fireplace
Nursing the last few embers of its slab
To sullen glow: from pinched lips, cold and crab,
The starved flame shrinks; his breath, like a menáce,
Shrieks in the flue, fluttering its sooty lace,
Piercing the silence like an icy stab.
From rheum-gnarled knees he rises, slow with cold,
And to the frost-bound window, muttering, goes,
With iron knuckles knocking on the pane;
And, lo! outside, his minions manifold
Answer the summons: wolf-like shapes of woes,
Hunger and suffering, trooping to his train.

II.

February

Gray-muffled to his eyes in rags of cloud,
His whip of winds forever ...

Madison Julius Cawein

April.

Hark! upon the east-wind, piping, creeping,
Comes a voice all clamorous with despair;
It is April, crying sore and weeping,
O'er the chilly earth, so brown and bare.

"When I went away," she murmurs, sobbing,
"All my violet-banks were starred with blue;
Who, O, who has been here, basely robbing
Bloom and odor from the fragrant crew?

"Who has reft the robin's hidden treasure,--
All the speckled spheres he loved so well?
And the buds which danced in merry measure
To the chiming of the hyacinth's bell?

"Where are all my hedge-rows, flushed with Maying?
And the leafy rain, that tossed so fair,
Like the spray from silver fountains playing,
Where the elm-tree's column rose in air?

"All are vanished, and my heart is breaking;
And my tears ...

Susan Coolidge