By Elizabeth Letitia Landon

Of all the months that fill the year 
    Give April’s month to me, 
For earth and sky are then so filled 
    With sweet variety! 

The apple-blossoms’ shower of pearl, 
    The pear-tree’s rosier hue, 
As beautiful as Woman’s blush, 
    As evanescent too. 

The purple light, that like a sigh 
    Comes from the violet bed, 
As there the perfumes of the East 
    Had all their odours shed. 

The wild-briar rose, a fragrant cup 
    To hold the morning’s tear; 
The birds-eye, like a sapphire star, 
    The primrose, pale like fear. 

The balls that hang like drifted snow 
    Upon the guelderose, 
The woodbine’s fairy trumpets, where 
    The elf his war-note blows. 

On every bough there is a bud, 
    In every bud a flower; 
But scarcely bud or flower will last 
    Beyond the present hour. 

Now comes a shower-cloud o’er the sky, 
    Then all again sunshine; 
Then clouds again, but brightened with 
    The rainbow’s coloured line. 

Aye, this, this is the month for me! 
    I could not love a scene 
Where the blue sky was always blue, 
    The green earth always green. 

It is like love; oh love should be 
    An ever-changing thing,— 
The love that I could worship must 
    Be ever on the wing. 

The chain my mistress flings round me 
    Must be both brief and bright; 
Or formed of opals, which will change 
    With every changing light. 

To-morrow she must turn to sighs 
    The smiles she wore to-day; 
This moment’s look of tenderness 
    The next one must be gay. 

Sweet April! thou the emblem art 
    Of what my love must be; 
One varying like the varying bloom 
    Is just the love for me. ⁠

This poem was originally published in The Literary Gazette in 1823 and is now in the public domain.


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