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Updated: June 17, 2025
It was a good world to live in and life was made especially sweet and interesting by the soft unfolding greens of a land brought to bud and blossom by April's sun and showers. In the beautiful panorama below there was nothing to indicate that a few miles to the eastward mighty armies were striving over a tortured strip of blasted land that for years to come would lie fruitless and barren.
What was she to Love, or what ever might she be? "But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day; So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray, Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this" ... Rosemary put the book down, face to face at last with self-knowledge. She would have torn down the flaming signal, but it was too late.
The whole essay breathes of swelling buds, springing grass, calls of birds, April flowers, April odors, and April's uncloying freshness and charm. As we realize what the returning spring brings to this writer, we say with Bliss Carman: Mother April, When the sap begins to stir."
O to be in England Now that April's there! was, after all, the cry of a homesick versifier, thinking "Home Thoughts, from Abroad"; and are Herrick and Wordsworth quite to be trusted on the subject of daffodils? Well, I am glad to have to own that my revisiting my native land resulted in an agreeable disappointment.
O! to be in England now that April's there. Men must work and women must weep. The path of duty is the way to glory " We could listen to no more of this gibberish. "We want no more poetry!" we cried. "Daughters of England!" she began, but here we pulled her down, a vase of water getting spilt over her in the scuffle. "Thank God!" she exclaimed, shaking herself like a dog.
As melts the iceberg in the seas, As clouds give rain to the eastern breeze, As snow-banks thaw in April's beam, The solid kingdoms like a dream Resist in vain his motive strain, They totter now and float amain.
On their birthdays men made offerings to their Genius, women to their Juno. A modern poet thus alludes to some of the Roman gods: "Pomona loves the orchard, And Liber loves the vine, And Pales loves the straw-built shed Warm with the breath of kine; And Venus loves the whisper Of plighted youth and maid, In April's ivory moonlight, Beneath the chestnut shade." Macaulay, "Prophecy of Capys."
Like the star-dust of Saturn they belt our fourteen-acre planet, not with three rings, nor four, but with twelve, a ring for every month, a girdle of twelve shining circles running round the year the tinkling ice of February in the goblet of October! the apples of October red and ripe on what might have been April's empty platter!
And I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: June reaped that bunch of flowers you carry From seeds of April's sowing." Saint Bede's is one of the most ancient of the minor colleges of Avonsbridge. Its foundress's sweet, pale, suffering face, clad in the close coif of the time of the wars of the Roses, still smiles over the fellow's table in hall, and adorns the walls of combination-room.
'On aged roots, with bright green mosses clad, Dwells the wood-sorrel, with its bright thin leaves Heart-shaped and triply folded, and its root Creeping like beaded coral; whilst around Flourish the copse's pride, anemones, With rays like golden studs on ivory laid Most delicate; but touch'd with purple clouds, Fit crown for April's fair but changeful brow.
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