To what purpose, April, do you return again? <br />Beauty is not enough. <br />You can no longer quiet me with the redness <br />Of little leaves opening stickily. <br />I know what I know. <br />The sun is hot on my neck as I observe <br />The spikes of the crocus. <br />The smell of the earth is good. <br />It is apparent that there is no death. <br />But what does that signify? <br />Not only under ground are the brains of men <br />Eaten by maggots. <br />Life in itself <br />Is nothing, <br />An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. <br />It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, <br />April <br />Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-6/
