April is the cruellest month,
breeding Lilacs out of the dead land,
mixing Memory and desire,
stirring dull roots with spring rain
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago, Is full of whispers, full of sighs
The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
and I love the rain
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by …
I could not be so sure of Spring
save that it sings in me
Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some mourning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England — now!
What is in this drink but
The April sun, squeezed
Like an orange in My glass?
I sip the Fire,
I drink and drink
Again,
I am drunk Yes,
but on the gold of suns…
Life begins again — in April!
How this dead earth comes to flower!
How the dry boughs wake and quicken
In this blooming, springtime hour!
Life begins again — in April!
And the bird is on the wing,
Books are flowing, breezes tender
In a rhapsody of spring
April changes her sweet mind
Every other second.
With her many moods and minds,
Nothing can be reckoned.
I always carry an umbrella,
It serves for rain and sun!
I take my boots and out I go
To share in April’s fun
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger
, Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.
April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April that mine ears Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
April, April,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!
