‘

 
   
 

TO APRIL. |
(A fondel of Salutation.)

LAD in the daintiest robes of Spring,
Darling of all the budding year;
You smiled but now, yet here is a tear —
Fitfully fair is the month I sing.

 
    

 
     
 

eae

Birds have flown northward on hurrying wing,
Eager to welcome their April here —

Clad in the daintiest robes of Spring,

Darling of all the budding year.

   

ToT

 
     
 
 

  

Summer is queen, and Autumn is king;
But you, fair month, are the princess dear.
Sweet coquette, so humanly near

That all our hearts to your waywardness cling,

Clad in the daintiest robes of Spring,
Darling of all the budding year.

Louise Chandler Moulton.