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Months-April: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!— BAYARD TAYLOR — March.

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.— TENNYSON — The May Queen. Conclusion. St. 7.

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing Under the sky's gray arch; Smiling I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing It is the wind of March.— WHITTIER — March.

Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping-anon-anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone.— WORDSWORTH — Written in March.

April. There is no glory in star or blossom Till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes Till breathed with joy as they wander by. March. n.— BRYANT — An Invitation to the Country.

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 multitude Of golden chalices to humming birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.— BRYANT — The Fountain.

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.— CLARE — The Village Minstrel and Other

Poems. The Last of April. Every tear is answered by a blossom, Every sigh with songs and laughter blent, Apple-blooms upon the breezes toss them. April knows her own, and is content.— SUSAN COOLIDGE — April.

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!— MARY MAPES DODGE — Now the Noisy

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

Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day! C.— W. H. GIBSON — Pastoral Days. Spring.

Golden and snowy and red the flowers, Golden, snowy and red in vain; Robins call robins through sad showers; The white dove's feet are wet with rain. * * * * * * For April sobs while these are so glad April weeps while these are so gay, - Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way.— HELEN HUNT JACKSON — Verses. April.

The children with the streamlets sing, When April stops at last her weeping; And every happy growing thing Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.— LUCY LARCOM — The Sister Months.

I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming on of storms.— LONGFELLOW — An April Day. L. 6.

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.— LONGFELLOW — An April Day. St. 8.

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.— D. M. MULOCK — April.

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. Poor Robin's Almanac. 1760. All Fools' Day. Spongy April.— Shakespeare — Tempest. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 65.