Hush—April is in the lane!
Be very still, she may go again;
The touch of her lilac-scented hand
Is on my cheek.
Do not speak
To her, she may not understand;
She is shy, and white, and very
fair.
Look,—she leaves a crocus—there!
The daffodils awake, and stir;
Above my head there is a whir
Of blue blue wings oh I am
glad
She is here! See—
By the wild plum tree
She pauses; soon it will be clad
In petals fluttering like blown
white tulle . . .
April, you are too beautiful:

This poem originally appeared in the Lewiston [Maine] Evening Journal, April 10, 1931.
It is now in the public domain.