April this year, not otherwise <br />Than April of a year ago, <br />Is full of whispers, full of sighs, <br />Of dazzling mud and dingy snow; <br />Hepaticas that pleased you so <br />Are here again, and butterflies. <br /> <br />There rings a hammering all day, <br />And shingles lie about the doors; <br />In orchards near and far away <br />The grey wood-pecker taps and bores; <br />The men are merry at their chores, <br />And children earnest at their play. <br /> <br />The larger streams run still and deep, <br />Noisy and swift the small brooks run <br />Among the mullein stalks the sheep <br />Go up the hillside in the sun, <br />Pensively,—only you are gone, <br />You that alone I cared to keep.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-a-second-april/
