I sighed: and, one by one, before me passed
The rainbowed daughters of the vernal showers,
Saying, "She comes at last."

Ah! broken promise of the world! how fair
You speak young hearts! In many a wanton word
Of lyric April, each succeeding year,
By risen flower, and the returning bird,
You vowed to bring back her.

And now the flutes are in the trees once more,
The violets breathe up through the melting snow,
Old Earth throws open wide her grassy door--
As if there were no violets long ago,
Or any birds before.


"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"

April is in the world again,
And all the world is filled with flowers--
Flowers for others, not for me!
For my one flower I cannot see,
Lost in the April showers.

I cannot wake her, though I sing,
And all the birds, for her dear sake,
Fill with their songs the wintry brake;
Ah! could they make her rise again,
What resurrection would be mine!