In April

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.

Credit

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on April 5, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“In April” appeared in Poems (T.A. Wright, 1918), translated by Jessie Lemont.