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APRIL RAIN.
Not with a loud and passionate sweep,
But quietly, like the fall of tears
From the loving eyes of those who weep
The beauty and bliss which coming years,
Whatever measures of joy they heap,
Can never restore again!
But quietly, like the fall of tears
From the loving eyes of those who weep
The beauty and bliss which coming years,
Whatever measures of joy they heap,
Can never restore again!
Call to the timid flowers, which stay
In the prisoning earth, where the drifts have lain;
With thy pattering fingers brush away
The leaves which wrap them like burial shrouds;
Lure them out to the loving day,
Bid them come up in blushing crowds
To broider the dripping skirts of May,
Beautiful April rain!
In the prisoning earth, where the drifts have lain;
With thy pattering fingers brush away
The leaves which wrap them like burial shrouds;
Lure them out to the loving day,
Bid them come up in blushing crowds
To broider the dripping skirts of May,
Beautiful April rain!
Over the hopes which moulder low
O fall tenderly, April rain!
Buried away from us long ago,
Under the wearisome world's dead leaves,—
Lifeless and voiceless,—who may know
But haply thy vital voice, that gives
Life and leaf to tile roots below,
May bid them arise again?
O fall tenderly, April rain!
Buried away from us long ago,
Under the wearisome world's dead leaves,—
Lifeless and voiceless,—who may know
But haply thy vital voice, that gives
Life and leaf to tile roots below,
May bid them arise again?
