In April

^{translated from the German by Jessie Lamont}

Again the woods are odorous, the lark
Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray 
That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark, 
Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.

After long rainy afternoons an hour 
Comes with its shafts of golden light and flings 
Them at the windows in a radiant shower, 
And rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.

Then all is still. The stones are crooned to sleep 
By the soft sound of rain that slowly dies; 
And cradled in the branches, hidden deep 
In each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies.