Explore "April" by Virna Sheard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
April! April! April! / With a mist of green on the trees -- / And a scent of the warm brown broken earth / On every wandering breeze; / What, though thou be changeful, / Though thy gold turns to grey again, / There's a robin out yonder singing, / Singing in the rain.
April! April! April! / 'Tis the Northland hath longed for thee, / She hath gazed toward the South with aching eyes / Full long and patiently. / Come now -- tell us, sweeting, / Thou laggard so lovely and late, / Dost know there's no joy like the joy that comes / When hearts have learned to wait?