April

At last we see the shadows play again At hide and seek, the shadows of the leaves, And swallows build new nests between the eaves; For Spring is with us, bringing in her train Flowers and songs, and sudden rustling rain, And golden mornings when the poet perceives What stealthy shadow nets the sunshine weaves. Striving to catch the singing birds in vain. But who walks sternly with the wayward Spring? Is it white Winter, eager still to slay, Thwarting our laughter with her sullen glance? Yet surely, very soon she will take wing And leave us to the loveliness of May, The South wind days when all the shadows dance.