Explore "April" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Who calls the Autumn season drear? / It was in Autumn that we met, / When under foot dead leaves lay wet / In the black London gardens, dear.
The fog was yellow everywhere, / And very thick in Finsbury Square, / Where in those days we used to meet.
I used to buy you violets sweet / From flower-girls down by Moorgate Street. / 'Twas Autumn then -- can we forget? -- / When first we met.
Who says that Spring is dear and fair? / It is in Spring-time that we part, / And weary heart from weary heart / Turns, as the birds begin to pair.
The sun shines on the golden dome, / The primroses in baskets come, / With daffodils in sheaves, to cheer / The town with dreams of the crowned year.
We're both polite and insincere: / Though neither says it, yet -- at heart -- / We mean to part.