Nay, be not June, nor yet December, dear, <br />But April always, as I find thee now: <br />A constant freshness unto me be thou, <br />And not the ripeness that must soon be sere. <br />Why should I be Time's dupe, and wish more near <br />The sobering harvest of thy vernal vow? <br />I am content, so still across thy brow <br />Returning smile chase transitory tear. <br />Then scatter thy April heart in sunny showers; <br />I crave nor Summer drouth nor Winter sleet: <br />As Spring be fickle, so thou be as sweet; <br />With half-kept promise tantalise the hours; <br />And let Love's frolic hands and woodland feet <br />Fill high the lap of Life with wilding flowers.<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-april-love/
