  LEAFLESS April chased by light, Chased by dark and full of laughter, Stays a moment in her flight Where the warmest breezes waft her, By the meadow brook to lean, Or where winter rye is growing, Showing in a lovelier green Where her wayward steps are going. Blithesome April brown and warm, Showing slimness through her tatters, Chased by sun or chased by storm— Not a whit to her it matters. Swiftly through the violet bed, Down to where the stream is flooding Light she flits—and round her head See the orchard branches budding! |
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