April Quotes

She who from April dates her years,
Diamonds should wear, lest bitter tears
For vain repentance flow; more

She who from April dates her years,
Diamonds should wear, lest bitter tears
For vain repentance flow; this stone,
Emblem of innocence is known.

The first of April, some do say
Is set apart for All Fools' day;
But why the more

The first of April, some do say
Is set apart for All Fools' day;
But why the people call it so,
Nor I, nor they themselves, do know.

When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, more

When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,
Opened in airs of June her multiple
OF golden chalices to humming birds
And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn
Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May
more

Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn
Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May
New blooming blossoms 'neath the sun are born,
And all poor April's charms are swept away.

Every tear is answered by a blossom,
Every sigh with songs and laughter blent,
April-blooms upon the more

Every tear is answered by a blossom,
Every sigh with songs and laughter blent,
April-blooms upon the breezes toss them.
April knows her own, and is content.

Now the noisy winds are still;
April's coming up the hill!
All the spring is in her more

Now the noisy winds are still;
April's coming up the hill!
All the spring is in her train,
Led by shining ranks of rain;
Pit, pat, patter, clatter,
Sudden sun and clatter patter!
. . . .
All things ready with a will,
April's coming up the hill!

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
more

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

The April winds are magical,
And thrill our tuneful frames;
The garden-walks are passional
more

The April winds are magical,
And thrill our tuneful frames;
The garden-walks are passional
To bachelors and dames.

Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day!

Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day!

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
more

Make me over, Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
All the mountain-prisoned rivers,
And thy great heart beats and quivers,
To revive the days that were.