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Updated: June 17, 2025
What cobbler even, bent upon his leather, whose soul would not mount upon such a summons? Who was it preached the first crusade? There was no marvel in the business. Did he come down our street now that April's here, he would win recruits from every house.
Marrier, in addition to having organized and managed the soirée, might also have written the piece and played every part in it, and founded the Azure Society and built its private theatre. The hour was Mr. Marrier's. Elise April's dressing-room was small and very thickly populated, and the threshold of it was barred by eager persons who were half in and half out of the room. Through these Mr.
April dews, in Britain's variable clime; are not the most salubrious, and April's night air is too often keen and piercing; but the season was an unusually mild one; and the ladies, with their cloaks and their furs, promenaded the well-lighted walks, determined to be pleased and happy. The giver of the fete was an enterprising Italian.
"Yes, I once heard April's message, Marian, for all my crow's-feet. But that was a long while ago, and perhaps I have forgotten it. I cannot tell, my dear. It is only from April in her own person that one hears this immemorial message. And as for me?
Their wedding-day was the sort of day which made Browning, when he lived in Florence, sing: "Oh, to be in England Now that April's there. . . . "And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows . . ." Margaret said the words to herself as the day greeted her when she pulled up her blind in the morning.
In spite of these inharmonious tendencies in Browning, his poetry at times shows a lyric lightness, such as is heard in these lines: "Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, 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!"
One morning I rose at dawn and seated myself behind my blind to spy upon the doings of the early risers. On this particular morning I first heard the tender notes of "the darling of children and bards" the bluebird baby. The cry was almost constant; it was urgent and clamorous beyond anything I ever heard from "April's bird." I even doubted the author till I saw him.
MARCH winds had come and gone; April's showers were over; May's buds had opened into flower; and the June sun was shining on the pleasant fields, when John Dolittle at last got back to his own country. But he did not yet go home to Puddleby. First he went traveling through the land with the pushmi-pullyu in a gipsy-wagon, stopping at all the country-fairs.
No artificial display could equal this handiwork of nature, this exhibition of "April's loveliest coronets." Now and again large trees are seen on the line of the road withering in the cruel coils of a parasitic vine, which winds itself about the trunk like a two-inch hawser, and slowly strangles the stout, columnar tree.
The same progress which brings April's perfumes burns them in the censer of the hot summer, and buries summer beneath the falling leaves, and covers its grave with winter's snow. 'Everything that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment. So the life of man, being under the law of growth, is, in all its parts, subject to the consequent necessity of decline.
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