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

A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and read more

A gush of bird-song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue--
An April day in the morning.

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

Sweet April showers
Do bring May flowers.

Sweet April showers
Do bring May flowers.

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

Sweet April-time--O cruel April-time!
Year after year returning, with a brow
Of promise, and red lips with read more

Sweet April-time--O cruel April-time!
Year after year returning, with a brow
Of promise, and red lips with longing paled,
And backward-hidden hands that clutch the joys
Of vanished springs, like flowers.

The lyric sound of laughter
Fills all the April hills
The joy-song of the crocus,
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The lyric sound of laughter
Fills all the April hills
The joy-song of the crocus,
The mirth of daffodils.

Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, read more

Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life's golden fruit is shed.

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