A willful April in her ways;
And in a dream of doubtful joy
I passed some truly April days.

May came, and on that arch, sweet mouth,
The smile was graver in its play,
And, softening with the softening South,
My April melted into May.

She loved me, yet my heart would doubt,
And ere I spoke the month was June --
One warm still night we wandered out
To watch a slowly setting moon.

Something which I saw not -- my eyes
Were not on heaven -- a star, perchance,
Or some bright drapery of the skies,
Had caught her earnest, upper glance.

And as she paused -- Hal! we have played
Upon the very spot -- a fir
Just touched me with its dreamy shade,
But the full moonlight fell on her --

And as she paused -- I know not why --
I longed to speak, yet could not speak;
The bashful are the boldest -- I --
I stooped and gently kissed her cheek.

A murmur (else some fragrant air