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.