April

By Elizabeth Letitia Landon

Of all the months that fill the year 
    Give April’s month to me, 
For earth and sky are then so filled 
    With sweet variety! 

The apple-blossoms’ shower of pearl, 
    The pear-tree’s rosier hue, 
As beautiful as Woman’s blush, 
    As evanescent too. 

The purple light, that like a sigh 
    Comes from the violet bed, 
As there the perfumes of the East 
    Had all their odours shed. 

The wild-briar rose, a fragrant cup 
    To hold the morning’s tear; 
The birds-eye, like a sapphire star, 
    The primrose, pale like fear. 

The balls that hang like drifted snow 
    Upon the guelderose, 
The woodbine’s fairy trumpets, where 
    The elf his war-note blows. 

On every bough there is a bud, 
    In every bud a flower; 
But scarcely bud or flower will last 
    Beyond the present hour. 

Now comes a shower-cloud o’er the sky, 
    Then all again sunshine; 
Then clouds again, but brightened with 
    The rainbow’s coloured line. 

Aye, this, this is the month for me! 
    I could not love a scene 
Where the blue sky was always blue, 
    The green earth always green. 

It is like love; oh love should be 
    An ever-changing thing,— 
The love that I could worship must 
    Be ever on the wing. 

The chain my mistress flings round me 
    Must be both brief and bright; 
Or formed of opals, which will change 
    With every changing light. 

To-morrow she must turn to sighs 
    The smiles she wore to-day; 
This moment’s look of tenderness 
    The next one must be gay. 

Sweet April! thou the emblem art 
    Of what my love must be; 
One varying like the varying bloom 
    Is just the love for me. ⁠

This poem was originally published in The Literary Gazette in 1823 and is now in the public domain.

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