When April woke the drowsy flowers, <br />And vagrant odors thronged the breeze, <br />And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, <br />And daisies flashed along the leas, <br />And faint arbutus strove among <br />Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise, <br />And nature's sweetly jubilant song <br />Went murmuring up the sunny skies, <br />Into this cheerful world you came, <br />And gained by right your vernal name. <br /> <br />I think the springs have changed of late, <br />For "Arctics" are my daily wear, <br />The skies are turned to cold gray slate, <br />And zephyrs are but draughts of air; <br />But you make up whate'er we lack, <br />When we, too rarely, come together, <br />More potent than the almanac, <br />You bring the ideal April weather; <br />When you are with us we defy <br />The blustering air, the lowering sky; <br />In spite of Winter's icy darts, <br />We've spring and sunshine in our hearts. <br /> <br />In fine, upon this April day, <br />This deep conundrum I will bring: <br />Tell me the two good reasons, pray, <br />I have, to say you are like spring? <br />You give it up? Because we love you <br />And see so very little of you.<br /><br />John Hay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-flora/
