For works with similar titles, see April.
4479396Poems — AprilClara Augusta Jones Trask

A faint, soft breath from low-hung skies,
As if it swept o'er flowers;
A languid sweetness running through
The long day's dreamy hours;
The violet haze upon the hills
Drops on the leafless trees,
And in the west the setting moon
Is drowned in purple seas.

A sweet, green prescience clothes the fields;
And, in the bosky dells,
The violet and forget-me-not
Unclose their bright-hued cells;
The streams released from icy chains
White down the highlands flow,
And the great river's troubled breast
Is white with foamy snow.

The fruit-trees droop with crimson buds,
A prophecy of bloom;
The crocus and the daffodil
The garden-beds illume;
The pale arbutus springs to life,
And opes its starry eyes
In quiet forest paths and vales,
Where mellow sunshine lies.

Anon upon the crystal air
Rings out the robin's note;
And from the tall elm by the spring
The bluebird's warblings float;
The lambs bleat on the pasture hills,
And frolic at their play,
And all the earth seems listening
To hear the step of May.