83 April Poems Introducing a Bountiful and Blooming Springtime
As spring awakens the earth with its warmth and color, poets have long been inspired to capture its beauty and joy in verse.
From famous works that have become classics, to playful and humorous poems, to uplifting and inspiring April poems, April offers a bounty of poetry that celebrates this bountiful and blooming season.
Whether you’re looking for a short and sweet ode to spring or a longer meditation on its many wonders, there are poems for April to suit every taste and mood.
Here are some categories to explore.
Famous April Poems
Many renowned poets have penned verse that celebrates the beauty and renewal of spring. These famous poems about April have become beloved classics that continue to inspire and delight readers of all ages.
1. Early April
by John Burroughs
Behold the robin’s breast aglow
As on the lawn he seeks bis game;
His cap a darker hue doth show,
His bill a yellow flame.
Now in the elm-tops see the swarm
Of swelling buds like bees in May;
The maples, too, have tints blood warm,
And willows show a golden ray.
In sunny woods the mould makes room
For liver leaf to ope her eye;
A tiny firmament of bloom
With stars upon a mimic sky.
Forth from the hive go voyaging bees,
Cruising far each sunny hour;
Scenting sap ‘mid maple trees,
Or sifting bread from sawdust flour.
Up from the marsh a chorus shrill
Of piping frogs swells in the night;
The meadowlark shows flashing quill
As o’er brown fields she takes her flight.
Now “mourning-cloak” takes up her clew
And dances through the sunny glades;
And sluggish turtles painted new
Are creeping forth where bittern wades.
Now screaming hawks soar o’er the wood,
And sparrows red haunt bushy banks;
The starlings gossip, “Life is good,”
And grackles pass in sable ranks.
The rye-fields show a tender hue
Of fresh’ning green amid the brown,
And pussy-willow’s clad anew
Along the brook in silver gown.
The purple finch hath found his tongue,
From out the elm tree what a burst!
Now once again all things are young,
Renewed by love as at the first.
2. April
by William Stanley Braithwaite
At morn when light mine eyes unsealed
I gazed upon the open field;
The rain had fallen in the night —
The landscape in the new day’s light
A countenance of grace revealed
Upon the meadow, wood and height.
The sun’s light was a smile of gold,
Ere shut by sudden fold on fold
Of surging, showering clouds from view;
No sooner hid than it broke through
A tearful smile upon the wold
Where earth reflected heaven’s blue.
Each separate divided part
Of day, was as the threefold art
Of God, who dreamed three dreams and made
The morning, noon, and night parade
In ever changing guise athwart
The day’s hours, in His dreams arrayed.
The sky was as a canvas spun
To paint the new spring’s nocturns on;
A blended melody of tints —
The sea’s hue, and the myriad hints
Of garden-closes, when the sun
Hath stamped the work of nature’s mints.
3. The Soul of April
by Bliss Carman
Over the wintry threshold
Who comes with joy to-day,
So frail, yet so enduring,
To triumph o’er dismay?
Ah, quick her tears are springing,
And quickly they are dried,
For sorrow walks before her,
But gladness walks beside.
She comes with gusts of laughter,—
The music as of rills;
With tenderness and sweetness,—
The wisdom of the hills.
Her hands are strong to comfort,
Her heart is quick to heed.
She knows the signs of sadness,
She knows the voice of need.
There is no living creature,
However poor or small,
But she will know its trouble,
And hasten to its call.
Oh, well they fare forever,
By mighty dreams possessed,
Whose hearts have lain a moment
On that eternal breast.
4. A Song for April
by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
List! list! The buds confer.
This noonday they’ve had news of her;
The south bank has had views of her;
The thorn shall exact his dues of her;
The willows adream
By the freshet stream
Shall ask what boon they choose of her.
Up! up! The world’s astir;
The would-be green has word of her;
Root and germ have heard of her,
Coming to break
Their sleep and wake
Their hearts with every bird of her.
See! see! How swift concur
Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her,
A-wondering what became of her;
The fields flower at the flame of her;
The glad air sings
With dancing wings
And the silvery shrill acclaim of her.
5. April
by Mary Bartol
O thou month of various moods,
Of sunshine and of mist,
As if thy odd vicissitudes
First quarreled, and then kissed;
I fear thy inconstant winds that blow
Wherever winds can blow;
I fear thy sly, illusive snows,
Which come like ghosts, like phantoms go.
The lilac buds begin to pout,
And crocuses arise
In grassy plots, and stare about,
With half-bewildered eyes,
On gloomy earth and murky sky,
Both clouded with a frown;
And crouch with faces all awry,
Till, like a sprite from Araby,
Some helping breeze has flown.
Capricious April, warm thy breath,
And wake the sleepy crowd
Of folded buds, that close beneath
The juniper are bowed;
And call a smile into the dawn,
And coax that smile to stay,
Then laugh, and shout, and push the morn
With frolic into day!
6. The First of April
by Mortimer Collins
Now if to be an April-fool
Is to delight in the song of the thrush,
To long for the swallow in air’s blue hollow,
And the nightingale’s riotous music-gush,
And to paint a vision of cities Elysian
Out away in the sunset-flush —
Then I grasp my flagon and swear thereby,
We are April-fools, my Love and I.
And if to be an April-fool
Is to feel contempt for iron and gold,
For the shallow fame at which most men aim —
And to turn from worldlings cruel and cold
To God in his splendor, loving and tender,
And to bask in his presence manifold —
Then by all the stars in his infinite sky,
We are April-fools, my Love and I.
7. April’s Charms
by William Henry Davies
When April scatters charms of primrose gold
Among the copper leaves in thickets old,
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise,
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
When I can hear the small woodpecker ring
Time on a tree for all the birds that sing;
And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long —
The simple bird that thinks two notes a song;
When I can hear the woodland brook, that could
Not drown a babe, with all his threatening mood;
Upon these banks the violets make their home,
And let a few small strawberry blossoms come:
When I go forth on such a pleasant day,
One breath outdoors takes all my cares away;
It goes like heavy smoke, when flames take hold
Of wood that’s green and fill a grate with gold.
8. Always Marry an April Girl
by Ogden Nash
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.
9. An April Night
by Lucy Maud Montgomery
The moon comes up o’er the deeps of the woods,
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,
Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds
Over the pools and the whimpering rills;
And with her the mists, like dryads that creep
From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs,
Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep,
With the wind on the hills their gay revellings.
Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow
Wanders Will-o’-the-Wisp through the night,
Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago
By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light.
The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear,
Akin to all eerie and elfin things,
Who weaves about us in meadow and mere
The spell of a hundred vanished Springs.
10. Over the Land Is April
by Robert Louis Stevenson
OVER the land is April,
Over my heart a rose;
Over the high, brown mountain
The sound of singing goes.
Say, love, do you hear me,
Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain,
Love, do you hear me sing?
By highway, love, and byway
The snows succeed the rose.
Over the high, brown mountain
The wind of winter blows.
Say, love, do you hear me,
Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain
I sound the song of spring,
I throw the flowers of spring.
Do you hear the song of spring?
Hear you the songs of spring?
11. My April Lady
by Henry Van Dyke
When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.
When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.
My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.
Funny April Poems
Springtime can also bring its fair share of lighthearted moments and amusing observations, and funny poems are a great way to capture this playful spirit. There are plenty of interesting poems about April to enjoy.
1. April Gave Herself to Me
by Mel Merrill
Dear April gave herself to me;
May probably will as well–
Although neither know the other
And sweet June will never tell!
But Summer cannot know of them,
It would put me in a spot.
Besides, my heart does long for her–
For summer’s really hot!
2. April Fool
by Quentin Ehlinger
It always shows up on this day
The surprise that takes breath away
That thing that you did not want
Will come back to you to haunt
And there’s really nothing to say!
3. Tree
by A.O. Taner
follow on facebook,
adore on pinterest,
fall in love on instagram,
kiss on a hunch,
all under a tree.
4. O It’s April There
by L’nass Shango
O it’s April there
When the mango blossoms turn to seed
And budding pear
Call the honey bee from flowery weed
And the maypole dancers are preparing
For May day fairs, and youth wild cheering.
O it’s April there
And lapis lazuli dance upon the seas
And maidens fair
Like butterflies frolic in the balmy breeze.
And all my heart is under the tree waiting
For you to come, funny face, and smiling.
O it’s April there
When Don and I turn our hearts to the reef
Diving corals where
Beauty is a panorama of colors beyond belief
But O my heart is under the tree waiting
For you to come, funny face, and smiling.
5. April Fool’s Snow
by Brenda McGrath
This April 1st is all snowy and dark,
With heavy wet snow that is no walk in the park.
We were hoping Spring was here to stay,
Instead the April Fool’s joke is on us today.
With this late Spring snow, it will increase our mud…
And falls on us like a big hard thud!
6. April Fool
by BL Devnath
today’s April fool
known to all needs to have tool
ooh! advance cheek’s smile
7. April and Everything after
by Christopher Lampton
hello little school girl
how do you do
travis says he loves you
think I could love you too
you look very healthy
all sobered up
maybe you need an older man
in your troubled life
you and your firm legs
and everything above
but I wonder and I wonder
can perversion go on like this
I wish and I pray
that you were closer to twenty-six
but for now
this will have to do
maybe I can get my chance
with Pocahontas, me and you
8. April the Giraffe
by Brenda McGrath
April the giraffe’s live feed is all the rage,
Every day we hope to see the birth engaged.
Where oh where can the new baby be?
Is this a fake pregnancy that we see?
A new baby giraffe is what we all want,
But April is in no hurry and nonchalant.
Maybe the blessed event will be this week.
The world is all dying for that first peek.
9. April Fool
by Nola Perez
A storm’s revving up in the Gulf
somewhere. The screen door
slaps in a security lapse. Back yard
furies (from the pen of The Bard)
strike up the band with a caveat
that’s seldom been heard. A small
lake turtle lifts his garden hose
head to a once-tranquil surface
transformed into dread, and I, Dona
Quixote, go to fence with an owl
Who-who’s out of his element
on a neighboring dock, but closer
inspection reveals no college professor,
just an owly imposter, a quasi-
transgressor chiseled from rock
10. April Magic
by David Bose
When April’s wind briskly blew
Beth’s spring skirt billowed and flew:
Men on the street
Got an eye-treat
‘Cause panties, chose Beth to eschew.
Inspirational April Poems
For those seeking inspiration and encouragement, there are many poems that reflect on the transformative power of spring. These inspirational poems about April can offer solace, hope, and a sense of connection to the natural world.
1. April
by Nannie R. Glass
When April weeps, she wakes the flowers
That slept the winter through.
Oh, did they dream those frosty hours
That she would be untrue
And not awaken them in time
To smile their smiles of love,
To hear the robin’s merry chime,
And gentle cooing dove?
And when they feel their mother’s tears
So gently o’er them weep,
Will they tell her of their simple fears
And visions while asleep?
And will they tell her that they dreamed,
Beneath their sheets of snow,
Such weary dreamings that it seemed
The winter ne’er would go?
They’ll soon be wide-awake and up,
In dainty robes arrayed,
Blue violet, gold buttercup,
And quaker-lady staid.
Wild eglantine and clustering thorn
Will grace the byway lanes,
Whilst woodland flowers the dells adorn
And daisies cheer the plains.
The rippling streamlet soon will be
A crystal mirror bright
For waving branch and mint and tree
That nod in golden light
Of summer sunbeams glad’ning rays
Filling the heart with love,
While nature and earth, uniting, praise
The God who reigns above.
In lowly spots will lilies spring
And scent the summer breeze,
And on the earth there’ll be no king
Arrayed like one of these.
So weeping April’s tears will bring
Her children from the tomb,
Will dress the earth in robes of spring,
Brightened by fragrant bloom.
2. Aprilian
by Bliss Carman
When April came with sunshine
And showers and lilac bloom,
My heart with sudden gladness
Was like a fragrant room.
Her eyes were heaven’s own azure,
As deep as God’s own truth.
Her soul was made of rapture
And mystery and youth.
She knew the sorry burden
Of all the ancient years,
Yet could not dwell with sadness
And memory and tears.
With her there was no shadow
Of failure nor despair,
But only loving joyance.
O Heart, how glad we were!
3. A Little Prayer
by Robert William
Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things –
The song of birds, the rapture of the rose;
Cloud-dappled skies, the laugh of limpid springs,
Drowned sunbeams and the perfume April blows;
Bronze wheat a-shimmer, purple shade of trees –
Let us be thankful, Lord of Life, for these!
Let us be praiseful, Sire, for simple sights; –
The blue smoke curling from a fire of peat;
Keen stars a-frolicking on frosty nights,
Prismatic pigeons strutting in a street;
Daisies dew-diamonded in smiling sward –
For simple sights let us be praiseful, Lord!
Let us be grateful, God, for health serene,
The hope to do a kindly deed each day;
The faith of fellowship, a conscience clean,
The will to worship and the gift to pray;
For all of worth in us, of You a part,
Let us be grateful, God, with humble heart.
4. April Rise
by Laurie Lee
If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now in this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.
Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world
Sweats with the bead of summer in its bud.
If ever I heard blessing it is there
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air.
Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates,
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones,
While white as water by the lake a girl
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans.
Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick,
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass;
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance,
If ever world were blessed, now it is.
5. A Wanderer
by Siegfried Sassoon
When Watkin shifts the burden of his cares
And all that irked him in his bound employ,
Once more become a vagrom-hearted boy,
He moves to roundelays and jocund airs;
Loitering with dusty harvestmen, he shares
Old ale and sunshine; or, with maids half-coy,
Pays court to shadows; fools himself with joy,
Shaking a leg at junketings and fairs.
Sometimes, returning down his breezy miles,
A snatch of wayward April he will bring,
Piping the daffodilly that beguiles
Foolhardy lovers in the surge of spring.
And then once more by lanes and field-path stiles
Up the green world he wanders like a king.
6. A Story for Rose on the Midnight Flight to Boston
by Anne Sexton
Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy’s
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
story. Someday, I promised her, I’ll be someone
going somewhere and we plotted it in the humdrum
school for proper girls. The next April the plane
bucked me like a horse, my elevators turned
and fear blew down my throat, that last profane
gauge of a stomach coming up. And then returned
to land, as unlovely as any seasick sailor,
sincerely eighteen; my first story, my funny failure.
Maybe Rose, there is always another story,
better unsaid, grim or flat or predatory.
Half a mile down the lights of the in-between cities
turn up their eyes at me. And I remember Betsy’s
story, the April night of the civilian air crash
and her sudden name misspelled in the evening paper,
the interior of shock and the paper gone in the trash
ten years now. She used the return ticket I gave her.
This was the rude kill of her; two planes cracking
in mid-air over Washington, like blind birds.
And the picking up afterwards, the morticians tracking
bodies in the Potomac and piecing them like boards
to make a leg or a face. There is only her miniature
photograph left, too long now for fear to remember.
Special tonight because I made her into a story
that I grew to know and savor.
A reason to worry,
Rose, when you fix an old death like that,
and outliving the impact, to find you’ve pretended.
We bank over Boston. I am safe. I put on my hat.
I am almost someone going home. The story has ended.
7. Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only underground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
8. Song of a Second April
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
The men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively,—only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.
Short April Poems
Sometimes the simplest expressions can be the most profound, short poetries about April are a great way to capture the essence of spring in just a few words.
1. April Now in Morning Clad
by Bliss Carman
April now in morning clad
Like a gleaming oread,
With the south wind in her voice,
Comes to bid the world rejoice.
With the sunlight on her brow,
Through her veil of silver showers,
April o’er New England now
Trails her robe of woodland flowers,
Violet and anemone;
While along the misty sea,
Pipe at lip, she seems to blow
Haunting airs of long ago.
2. April Showers
by Mary E. Wilkins
There fell an April shower, one night:
Next morning, in the garden-bed,
The crocuses stood straight and gold:
“And they have come,” the children said.
There fell an April shower, one night:
Next morning, thro’ the woodland spread
The Mayflowers, pink and sweet as youth:
“And they are come,” the children said.
There fell an April shower, one night:
Next morning, sweetly, overhead,
The blue-birds sung, the blue-birds sung:
“And they have come,” the children said.
3. Under the April Moon
by Bliss Carman
Oh, well the world is dreaming
Under the April moon,
Her soul in love with beauty,
Her senses all a-swoon!
Pure hangs the silver crescent
Above the twilight wood,
And pure the silver music
Wakes from the marshy flood.
O Earth, with all thy transport,
How comes it life should seem
A shadow in the moonlight,
A murmur in a dream?
4. April with Veiled Arm
by Hilda Conkling
April with veiled arms
And body like a swan’s wing,
Opal and bronze in your hair,
Gold in your eyes,
Are you a woman
Out of the sea?
Did you come last night
From the uncurled wave?
5. One April Morn
by John B. Tabb
Twin violets amid the dew
Unfolded soft their petals blue
To find the winter’s dream come true,
One April morn.
Two warmer, softer, violet eyes,
Beneath the selfsame April skies,
Fulfilled a dream of paradise,
One April morn.
Dawn-blossoms of a changeful day,
Ye would not till the twilight stay,
But, ere the noontide, sped away,
One April morn.
6. April Is a Baby
by Annette Wynne
April is a baby—laughs and cries and plays;
Has a thousand different moods through her thirty days;
Golden-haired and blue-eyed—what has she to do
But laugh and cry and bloom and grow her whole life through!
April is a baby—growing with the flowers,
Laughing, crying, laughing—so she spends the hours!
7. Let’s Take the Road and Follow April
by Annette Wynne
Let’s take the road and follow April;
April’s heart is wild with glee,
April’s lips were made for laughter,
What though rain and tears come after—
April calls and we are free!
Let’s take the road and follow April—
Just a merry child is she—
Where she treads green things start growing—
April calls, we must be going—
April calls and we are free!
8. April’s Dream
by William Stanley Braithwaite
The stream’s breath tastes of the wood’s perfume,
Filled are the woods with foam:
And the sea like a sheet ‘neath the summer noon,
With the languorous swerve runs home.
The beat of a pulse the warm sun stirs
In the air, the sea and stream,
Beckons the heart-and the soul allures
Forth, into April’s dream.
9. April Violet
by Raymond A. Foss
A new bloom
frilly and pink
between the rich and green
grafted and grown by your hands
warmed in the sun
given to me
gone but remembered
preserved in resin,
and memory
Long April Poems
For those who prefer a more expansive exploration of springtime’s beauty and meaning. These long poetries about April can be meditative, contemplative, and deeply moving.
1. April
“A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye,
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.”
– Wordsworth.
I have found violets. April hath come on,
And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer time.
You may hear birds at morning, and at eve
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooing upon the caves, and drawing in
His beautiful bright neck, and, from the hills,
A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea
Tells the release of waters, and the earth
Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves
Are lifted by the grass; and so I know
That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard
The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.
Take of my violets! I found them where
The liquid South stole o’er them, on a bank
That leaned to running water. There’s to me
A daintiness about these early flowers
That touches me like poetry. They blow
With such a simple loveliness among
The common herbs of pasture, and breathe out
Their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts
Whose beatings are too gentle for the world.
I love to go in the capricious days
Of April and hunt violets; when the rain
Is in the blue cups trembling, and they nod
So gracefully to the kisses of the wind.
It may be deem’d too idle, but the young
Read nature like the manuscript of heaven,
And call the flowers its poetry. Go out!
Ye spirits of habitual unrest,
And read it when the “fever of the world”
Hath made your hearts impatient, and, if life
Hath yet one spring unpoisoned, it will be
Like a beguiling music to its flow,
And you will no more wonder that I love
To hunt for violets in the April time.
2. Resurgam
by Bliss Carman
Lo, now comes the April pageant
And the Easter of the year.
Now the tulip lifts her chalice,
And the hyacinth his spear;
All the daffodils and jonquils
With their hearts of gold are here.
Child of the immortal vision,
What hast thou to do with fear?
When the summons wakes the impulse,
And the blood beats in the vein,
Let no grief thy dream encumber,
No regret thy thought detain.
Through the scented bloom-hung valleys,
Over tillage, wood and plain,
Comes the soothing south wind laden
With the sweet impartial rain.
All along the roofs and pavements
Pass the volleying silver showers
, To unfold the hearts of humans
And the frail unanxious flowers.
Breeding fast in sunlit places,
Teeming life puts forth her powers,
And the migrant wings come northward
On the trail of golden hours.
Over intervale and upland
Sounds the robin’s interlude
From his tree-top spire at evening
Where no unbeliefs intrude.
Every follower of beauty
Finds in the spring solitude
Sanctuary and persuasion
Where the mysteries still brood.
Now the bluebird in the orchard,
A warm sighing at the door,
And the soft haze on the hillside,
Lure the houseling to explore
The perennial enchanted
Lovely world and all its lore;
While the early tender twilight
Breathes of those who come no more.
By full brimming river margins
Where the scents of brush fires blow,
Through the faint green mist of springtime,
Dreaming glad-eyed lovers go,
Touched with such immortal madness
Not a thing they care to know
More than those who caught life’s secret
Countless centuries ago.
In old Egypt for Osiris,
Putting on the green attire,
With soft hymns and choric dancing
They went forth to greet the fire
Of the vernal sun, whose ardor
His earth children could inspire,
And the ivory flutes would lead them
To the slake of their desire.
In remembrance of Adonis
Did the Dorian maidens sing
Linus songs of joy and sorrow
For the coming back of spring,—
Sorrow for the wintry death
Of each irrevocable thing,
Joy for all the pangs of beauty
The returning year could bring.
Now the priests and holy women
With sweet incense, chant and prayer,
Keep His death and resurrection
Whose new love bade all men share
Immortality of kindness,
Living to make life more fair.
Wakened to such wealth of being,
Who would not arise and dare?
Seeing how each new fulfilment
Issues at the call of need
From infinitudes of purpose
In the core of soul and seed,
Who shall set the bounds of puissance
Or the formulas of creed?
Truth awaits the test of beauty,
Good is proven in the deed.
Therefore, give thy spring renascence,—
Freshened ardor, dreams and mirth,—
To make perfect and replenish
All the sorry fault and dearth
Of the life from whose enrichment
Thine aspiring will had birth;
Take thy part in the redemption
Of thy kind from bonds of earth.
So shalt thou, absorbed in beauty,
Even in this mortal clime
Share the life that is eternal,
Brother to the lords of time,—
Virgil, Raphael, Gautama,—
Builders of the world sublime.
Yesterday was not earth’s evening
Every morning is our prime.
All that can be worth the rescue
From oblivion and decay, —
Joy and loveliness and wisdom, —
In thyself, without dismay
Thou shalt save and make enduring
Through each word and act, to sway
The hereafter to a likeness
Of thyself in other clay.
Still remains the peradventure,
Soul pursues an orbit here
Like those unreturning comets,
Sweeping on a vast career,
By an infinite directrix,
Focussed to a finite sphere,—
Nurtured in an earthly April,
In what realm to reappear?
3. A Celebration
by William Carlos Williams
A middle-northern March, now as always–
gusts from the South broken against cold winds–
but from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide,
it moves–not into April–into a second March,
the old skin of wind-clear scales dropping
upon the mold: this is the shadow projects the tree
upward causing the sun to shine in his sphere.
So we will put on our pink felt hat–new last year!
–newer this by virtue of brown eyes turning back
the seasons–and let us walk to the orchid-house,
see the flowers will take the prize tomorrow
at the Palace.
Stop here, these are our oleanders.
When they are in bloom–
You would waste words
It is clearer to me than if the pink
were on the branch. It would be a searching in
a colored cloud to reveal that which now, huskless,
shows the very reason for their being.
And these the orange-trees, in blossom–no need
to tell with this weight of perfume in the air.
If it were not so dark in this shed one could better
see the white.
It is that very perfume
has drawn the darkness down among the leaves.
Do I speak clearly enough?
It is this darkness reveals that which darkness alone
loosens and sets spinning on waxen wings–
not the touch of a finger-tip, not the motion
of a sigh. A too heavy sweetness proves
its own caretaker.
And here are the orchids!
Never having seen
such gaiety I will read these flowers for you:
This is an odd January, died–in Villon’s time.
Snow, this is and this the stain of a violet
grew in that place the spring that foresaw its own doom.
And this, a certain July from Iceland:
a young woman of that place
breathed it toward the South. It took root there.
The color ran true but the plant is small.
This falling spray of snow-flakes is
a handful of dead Februaries
prayed into flower by Rafael Arevalo Martinez
of Guatemala.
Here’s that old friend who
went by my side so many years: this full, fragile
head of veined lavender. Oh that April
that we first went with our stiff lusts
leaving the city behind, out to the green hill–
May, they said she was. A hand for all of us:
this branch of blue butterflies tied to this stem.
June is a yellow cup I’ll not name; August
the over-heavy one. And here are–
russet and shiny, all but March. And March?
Ah, March–
Flowers are a tiresome pastime.
One has a wish to shake them from their pots
root and stem, for the sun to gnaw.
Walk out again into the cold and saunter home
to the fire. This day has blossomed long enough.
I have wiped out the red night and lit a blaze
instead which will at least warm our hands
and stir up the talk.
I think we have kept fair time.
Time is a green orchard.
4. It Was an April Morning: Fresh and Clear
by William Wordsworth
It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man’s speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between
Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
Such an entire contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.–Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd’s dog, the linnet and the thrush
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
Or like some natural produce of the air,
That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But ’twas the foliage of the rocks–the birch,
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
With hanging islands of resplendent furze:
And, on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
‘Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.’
—-Soon did the spot become my other home,
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
Years after we are gone and in our graves,
When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of EMMA’S DELL.
5. Courage
by Robert William Service
Today I opened wide my eyes,
And stared with wonder and surprise,
To see beneath November skies
An apple blossom peer;
Upon a branch as bleak as night
It gleamed exultant on my sight,
A fairy beacon burning bright
Of hope and cheer.
“Alas!” said I, “poor foolish thing,
Have you mistaken this for Spring?
Behold, the thrush has taken wing,
And Winter’s near.
“
Serene it seemed to lift its head:
“The Winter’s wrath I do not dread,
Because I am,” it proudly said,
“A Pioneer.
“Some apple blossom must be first,
With beauty’s urgency to burst
Into a world for joy athirst,
And so I dare;
And I shall see what none shall see –
December skies gloom over me,
And mock them with my April glee,
And fearless fare.
“And I shall hear what none shall hear –
The hardy robin piping clear,
The Storm King gallop dark and drear
Across the sky;
And I shall know what none shall know –
The silent kisses of the snow,
The Christmas candles’ silver glow,
Before I die.
“Then from your frost-gemmed window pane
One morning you will look in vain,
My smile of delicate disdain
No more to see;
But though I pass before my time,
And perish in the grale and grime,
Maybe you’ll have a little rhyme
To spare for me.
6. April Day
by Caroline Anne Southey
All day the low-hung clouds have dropped
Their garnered fullness down;
All day that soft, gray mist hath wrapped
Hill, valley, grove, and town.
There has not been a sound to-day
To break the calm of nature;
Nor motion, I might almost say,
Of life or living creature;
Of waving bough, or warbling bird,
Or cattle faintly lowing;
I could have half believed I heard
The leaves and blossoms growing.
I stood to hear—I love it well—
The rain’s continuous sound;
Small drops, but thick and fast they fell,
Down straight into the ground.
For leafy thickness is not yet
Earth’s naked breast to screen,
Though every dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green.
Sure, since I looked, at early morn,
Those honeysuckle buds
Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
Hath put forth larger studs.
That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst,
The milk-white flowers revealing;
Even now upon my senses first
Methinks their sweets are stealing.
The very earth, the steamy air,
Is all with fragrance rife!
And grace and beauty everywhere
Are flushing into life.
Down, down they come, those fruitful stores,
Those earth-rejoicing drops!
A momentary deluge pours,
Then thins, decreases, stops.
And ere the dimples on the stream
Have circled out of sight,
Lo! from the west a parting gleam
Breaks forth of amber light.
* * * * * * *
But yet behold—abrupt and loud,
Comes down the glittering rain;
The farewell of a passing cloud,
The fringes of its train.
April Poems That Rhyme
Rhyme can add a musical quality to poetry, and many poems about April with rhyming words make use of this technique to create a playful and memorable effect.
1. April
by Emily Dickinson
An altered look about the hills;
A Tyrian light the village fills;
A wider sunrise in the dawn;
A deeper twilight on the lawn;
A print of a vermilion foot;
A purple finger on the slope;
A flippant fly upon the pane;
A spider at his trade again;
An added strut in chanticleer;
A flower expected everywhere;
An axe shrill singing in the woods;
Fern-odors on untravelled roads, —
All this, and more I cannot tell,
A furtive look you know as well,
And Nicodemus’ mystery
Receives its annual reply.
2. An April Adoration
by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Sang the sun rise on an amber morn —
‘Earth, be glad! An April day is born.
‘Winter’s done, and April’s in the skies, Earth, look up with laughter in your eyes!’
Putting off her dumb dismay of snow,
Earth bade all her unseen children grow.
Then the sound of growing in the air Rose to God a liturgy of prayer;
And the thronged succession of the days
Uttered up to God a psalm of praise.
Laughed the running sap in every vein,
Laughed the running flurries of warm rain,
Laughed the life in every wandering root,
Laughed the tingling cells of bud and shoot.
God in all the concord of their mirth
Heard the adoration-song of Earth.
3. A Well-Worn Story
by Dorothy Parker
In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.
His eyes were hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.
Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.
In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.
Now what should I do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face
And spoil a page with rhymes?
4. April Time
by Ruby Archer
What’s in the bud
Is aye the sweetest,
Half-unrevealed
Is aye completest.
Tho’ from our lips
Fair words be flowing,
Thoughts bide at heart
More worth the knowing.
Songs in the soul
Excel our singing,
Birds in the nest
Faint not in winging.
Still must we seek,
Fathom the glooming.
Life’s in the bud!
Oh, speed the blooming!
5. Now Fades the Last Long Streak of Snow
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.
Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown’d in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.
Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail
On winding stream or distant sea;
Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky
To build and brood; that live their lives
From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too; and my regret
Becomes an April violet,
And buds and blossoms like the rest.
6. My Mother
by Francis Ledwidge
God made my mother on an April day,
From sorrow and the mist along the sea,
Lost birds’ and wanderers’ songs and ocean spray,
And the moon loved her wandering jealously.
Beside the ocean’s din she combed her hair,
Singing the nocturne of the passing ships,
Before her earthly lover found her there
And kissed away the music from her lips.
She came unto the hills and saw the change
That brings the swallow and the geese in turns.
But there was not a grief she deeméd strange,
For there is that in her which always mourns.
Kind heart she has for all on hill or wave
Whose hopes grew wings like ants to fly away.
I bless the God Who such a mother gave
This poor bird-hearted singer of a day.
7. An April Day
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
‘T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth’s loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter’s cold,
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o’er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.
Inverted in the tide
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life’s golden fruit is shed.
8. So Sweet Love Seemed That April Morn
by Robert Seymour Bridges
So sweet love seemed that April morn,
When first we kissed beside the thorn,
So strangely sweet, it was not strange
We thought that love could never change.
But I can tell–let truth be told–
That love will change in growing old;
Though day by day is naught to see,
So delicate his motions be.
And in the end ’twill come to pass
Quite to forget what once he was,
Nor even in fancy to recall
The pleasure that was all in all.
His little spring, that sweet we found,
So deep in summer floods is drowned,
I wonder, bathed in joy complete,
How love so young could be so sweet.
9. April
by Sara Teasdale
The roofs are shining from the rain.
The sparrows tritter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.
Yet the back-yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree–
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.
April Poems for Children
Whether you’re a parent, teacher, or caregiver, there are many April poems for kids that are perfect for sharing with young readers, and that can help foster a love of language and the natural world.
1. April! April! Are You Here?
by Dora Read Goodale
April! April! are you here?
Oh, how fresh the wind is blowing!
See! the sky is bright and clear,
Oh, how green the grass is growing!
April! April! are you here?
April! April! is it you?
See how fair the flowers are springing!
Sun is warm and brooks are clear,
Oh, how glad the birds are singing!
April! April! is it you?
April! April! you are here!
Though your smiling turn to weeping,
Though your skies grow cold and drear,
Though your gentle winds are sleeping,
April! April! you are here!
2. A Real April Day
by Lenore Hetrick
April for rainbows,
And April for showers!
April for a bright hint
Of lovely May flowers.
April for nonsense,
And April for play—
Best of all times
Is a real April day!
3. A Calendar of Sonnets: April
by Helen Hunt Jackson
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April’s name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
4. Houses of Dreams
by Sara Teasdale
You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.
The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true –
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.
5. How Was School Today?
by Denise Rodgers
Our teacher brought in three large goats
who chewed on desks and then our coats.
At recess all the goats played dead,
then woke up, chewed on grass instead.
The principal stood on his head
and stayed there till his face turned red.
He bent his knees to take a bow.
I think he might still be there now.
Such a big weird day at school
Oh, really not!
Just April Fools!
6. Not Really
by Denise Rodgers
The snow outside is six feet high.
A bird just divebombed in my eye.
My socks just burst right into flames
for reasons I cannot explain.
I heard they’re shutting down the school.
Okay, the truth is
April Fools!
April Poems for Seniors
Springtime can also offer a sense of renewal and vitality to older readers. These works can offer comfort, wisdom, and a sense of connection to the cycles of life and nature.
1. April
by June Rusho
When each of my days
Come to an end
I think of the message to
God I will send;
Many blessings have come
My way;
So God I do thank you
As I pray;
My parents gave me a
Wonderful start;
For them I am grateful
With all of my heart;
My family and friends have
Made my life complete,
Thinking of them, my heart
Skips a beat;
As my golden years are
Coming to a close,
I thank God for my life in
Both poetry and prose.
2. I Shall not Care
by Sara Teasdale
When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you shall lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.
I shall have peace; as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.
3. A Sleepless Night
by Philip Levine
April, and the last of the plum blossoms
scatters on the black grass
before dawn. The sycamore, the lime,
the struck pine inhale
the first pale hints of sky.
An iron day,
I think, yet it will come
dazzling, the light
rise from the belly of leaves and pour
burning from the cups
of poppies.
The mockingbird squawks
from his perch, fidgets,
and settles back. The snail, awake
for good, trembles from his shell
and sets sail for China. My hand dances
in the memory of a million vanished stars.
A man has every place to lay his head.
4. April
by Margaret E. Sangster
I had not meant to love again—all that was lost to me,
For I had felt love’s fear and pain, as well as ecstasy;
I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed away the key.
All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming fire,
And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched the flames leap higher,
To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red desire.
And then mad April came again—I felt the breezes blowing,
And I forgot the fear, the pain…. I only knew that, glowing,
In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were growing.
And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could defeat him!)
My vagrant love crept back to me… I did not mean to greet him;
But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to meet him!
5. A Virginal
by Ezra Pound
No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether;
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness
To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.
No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,
Soft as spring wind that’s come from birchen bowers.
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,
As winter’s wound with her sleight hand she staunches,
Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
As white their bark, so white this lady’s hours.
6. Calmly We Walk through This April’s Day
by Delmore Schwartz
Metropolitan poetry here and there,
In the park sit pauper and rentier,
The screaming children, the motor-car
Fugitive about us, running away,
Between the worker and the millionaire
Number provides all distances,
It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,
Many great dears are taken away,
What will become of you and me
(This is the school in which we learn …)
Besides the photo and the memory?
(… that time is the fire in which we burn.)
(This is the school in which we learn …)
What is the self amid this blaze?
What am I now that I was then
Which I shall suffer and act again,
The theodicy I wrote in my high school days
Restored all life from infancy,
The children shouting are bright as they run
(This is the school in which they learn …)
Ravished entirely in their passing play!
(… that time is the fire in which they burn.)
Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!
Where is my father and Eleanor?
Not where are they now, dead seven years,
But what they were then?
No more? No more?
From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,
Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume
Not where they are now (where are they now?)
But what they were then, both beautiful;
Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.
7. Flower God, God of the Spring
by Robert Louis Stevenson
FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer,
Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant;
Spring, flower-planter in meadows,
Child-conductor in willowy
Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses:
Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity:
O child, happy are children!
She still smiles on their innocence,
She, dear mother in God, fostering violets,
Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins:
Thus one cunning in music
Wakes old chords in the memory:
Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances.
One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal
Green – one more, and my bosom
Feels new life with an ecstasy.
April Poems about the Weather
If you’re drawn to vivid descriptions of blooming flowers and buzzing bees, or more introspective reflections on the meaning of renewal and growth, there’s an April poem for every mood and occasion.
1. Rain, Rain, April Rain
by Annette Wynne
Rain, rain, April rain,
Washing tree and window pane,
Tapping every spot of ground,
Lest some sleepy seed be found;
I can watch you and be gay
Though I cannot go to play.
Rain, rain, April rain,
Washer of the hill and plain,
Summer could not be so gay
If it did not rain to-day,
And it’s fun to stay inside
And see you falling far and wide.
2. An April Morning
by Bliss Carman
Once more in misted April
The world is growing green.
Along the winding river
The plumey willows lean.
Beyond the sweeping meadows
The looming mountains rise,
Like battlements of dreamland
Against the brooding skies.
In every wooded valley
The buds are breaking through,
As though the heart of all things
No languor ever knew.
The golden-wings and bluebirds
Call to their heavenly choirs.
The pines are blued and drifted
With smoke of brushwood fires.
And in my sister’s garden
Where little breezes run,
The golden daffodillies
Are blowing in the sun.
3. April Weather
by Anonymous
Rain and snow
are April’s show.
Though birds sing,
I must cling
to my umbrella.
I’m a garden fella.
Out, in my boots,
asparagus shoots,
daffodils awake
while I rake.
Earthworm and mole
run for their hole,
rain pours down
and I frown.
What a blessing,
my grim guessing.
4. April Rain
by Mathilde Blind
The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow’s evanescent glory;
Heaven’s light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.
5. Delight in the Buds
by Gershon Wolf
Delight in the buds
popping out on the trees
Bathe in a southerly breeze
It’s over eighty degrees
The calendar cautions
This is too early!
‘Don’t you dare enjoy this’
Its countenance surly …
How long this weather may last
is not for me to say
I just know it’s Chicago
half a month before May …
O, perhaps it’s all just a dream anyway ~
Checking the forecast, snow’s due in two days
6. Winter Keeps Springing Up
by Kim Rodrigues
Daffodils blooming,
Robins tweeting in trees,
Pollen is looming,
Sky falling like seas.
Atlanta’s warming –
Bless it’s peachy heart.
Isn’t it charming,
The chill will not part.
Can’t put my clothes away.
Winter keeps springing up.
My woollen socks sashay.
Taunt of sweaters: “Wuz up?”
Kids hop, skip and jump,
The joy of April,
Let go of the slump –
Could be they’re grateful…
Tender leaves unfold,
Sun is inviting,
But on the threshold,
The cold’s still biting.
Can’t put my clothes away
Winter keeps springing up
My woollen socks sashay
Taunt of sweaters: “Wuz up?”
7. April’s Treasures
by Ina Goodling
Beyond the storm cloud’s silver lining
The sun is pouring molten gold
To set the diamond raindrops shining
And each new leaf with jade enfold
Rubies plucked from red rose petals
Obsidian from the raven’s wing
Speak not of precious gems and metals
When April’s treasures come each spring.
8. April
by Sandra Haight
April follows March
Pleasingly unfolding Spring
Renewing great joy-
Intermittent clouds appear
Launching rainy days to bear.
April Poems about Spring
These poems about April and spring can offer insights into the human experience, and help us connect to the natural world and its rhythms in a deeper and more meaningful way.
1. Spring Gladness
by John Burroughs
Now clap your hands together,
For this is April weather,
And love again is born;
The west wind is caressing,
The turf your feet are pressing
Is thrilling to the morn.
To see the grass a-greening,
To find each day new meaning
In sky and tree and ground;
To see the waters glisten,
To linger long, and listen
To every wakening sound!
To feel your nerves a-tingle
By grackle’s strident jingle
Or starling’s brooky call,
Or phcebe’s salutation,
Or sparrow’s proclamation
Atop the garden wall!
The maple trees are thrilling,
Their eager juices spilling
In many a sugar-camp.
I see the buckets gleaming,
I see the smoke and steaming,
I smell the fragrant damp.
The mourning-dove is cooing
The husky crow is wooing,
I hear his raucous vows;
The robin’s breast is glowing,
Warm hues of earth are showing
Behind the early plows.
I love each April token
And every word that’s spoken
In field or grove or vale,—
The hyla’s twilight chorus,
The clanging geese that o’er us
Keep well the northern trail.
Oh, soon with heaping measures
The spring will bring her treasures
To gladden every breast;
The sky with warmth a-beaming,
The earth with love a-teeming —
In life itself new zest!
2. At the Gates of Spring
by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
With April here,
And first thin green on the awakening bough,
What wonderful things and dear,
My tired heart to cheer,
At last appear!
Colours of dream afloat on cloud and tree,
So far, so clear,
A spell, a mystery;
And joys that thrill and sing,
New come on mating wing,
The wistfulness and ardour of the spring—
And Thou!
3. Calling the Roll
by Annette Wynne
April calls,
Through spring time halls,
“Bluebird, crocus, violet,
Do you forget
To grow? To sing?”
Soon they answer to the call,
“Present early one and all,”
O the joy of spring!
4. The Thrush
by Edward Thomas
When Winter’s ahead,
What can you read in November
That you read in April
When Winter’s dead?
I hear the thrush, and I see
Him alone at the end of the lane
Near the bare poplar’s tip,
Singing continuously.
Is it more that you know
Than that, even as in April,
So in November,
Winter is gone that must go?
Or is all your lore
Not to call November November,
And April April,
And Winter Winter—no more?
But I know the months all,
And their sweet names, April,
May and June and October,
As you call and call
I must remember
What died into April
And consider what will be born
Of a fair November;
And April I love for what
It was born of, and November
For what it will die in,
What they are and what they are not,
While you love what is kind,
What you can sing in
And love and forget in
All that’s ahead and behind.
5. Sonnet to the Month of April
by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott
Spring has arriv’d and throws her garland round’
O’er hill and dale’ the varied buds are found;
O’er fields, o’er woods, her sweet perfume she bears,
And every grove in partial beauty wears.
The blue birds fly, to catch the waving flower,
And sing, and twitter in the garden bower;
While wakeful turtles, sing in all our groves,
And warbling songsters meet their happy loves.
Sky, air, and water, give the zephyrs breath,
And warmer suns refresh the smiling heath;
The sighing winds are in the distance heard,
And softer breezes now become endear’d.
Hope now selects a myrtle, fast entwin’d
With blushing roses, in her wreath to bind;
And near her cottage, hangs the lonely flowers,
Which bloom in beauty—bless’d with April showers.
All nature smiles, delighted, with a blush
On every shrub, on every thorny bush;
The varied tinge of glowing beauties rise,
While in the tuft, the hidden violet lies.
So when the winter of the tomb is o’er,
And cruel death has power to kill no more;
Then we may rise to the perennial spring,
That brings immortal praises to our King.
6. In April
by Edna Mead
Young Spring stands on a hill-top
With a beckoning staff of green
Till I meet his eyes
With a swift surprise
And feel my soul swept clean—
Clean and sweet and vernal
With not one scar nor stain.
Quick for the boon eternal
Of April’s sun and rain.
Young Spring stands on a hill-top
Against the morning gold,
And his song, hurled
Across the world
Till no man more is old.
For he will not walk with sorrow,
But with bursting buds, in sooth,
He lets me glimpse tomorrow,
And the feast he spreads for youth.
Young Spring stands on a hill-top
While I—my hearts aflame!
Young Spring waits on a hill-top,
And calls—my name!
7. April
by Rebecca Hey
Capricious April! when we fain would find
A fitting emblem for inconstancy,
Thy changeful moods such emblem well supply;
For thy wild sallies sure no laws can bind,
No counsel tame. One moment, and the wind
Brings storms of sleet and “blossom-bruising hail;”
The next, not Summer breathes a softer gale,
Or looks upon us with a glance more kind.
And lo! to greet thee in thy alter’d mood,
Glad Nature hastes her fairest wreaths to bring,
Blithe daisy, nodding cowslip, and each bud
That owes allegiance to the early Spring.
May such sweet wooing chase thy frowns away,
And be thy smile as constant as ’tis gay!
8. March and April
by Annette Wynne
Stay in, stay in, O flowers, stay in,
Spring can’t begin, it can’t begin!
For wild rough March rides all about,
Don’t put your little noses out;
Small heads should keep safe underground,
Or March will catch you riding round.
Come out, come out, O flowers, come out!
Wild March is gone with rush and shout,
And April’s eager now to play,
Come out, for March rode far away,
And Spring is dancing all around!
Come up, dear seeds, above the ground!
9. Sonnet 98
by William Shakespeare
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight
Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
Final Thoughts
April poems offer a beautiful way to celebrate the season of renewal and growth.
From famous April poems by renowned poets to playful and humorous pieces, there’s an April poem to suit every taste and mood.
Whether you’re looking for inspiration, reflection, or just a moment of joy and beauty, there’s something in this rich and varied genre for everyone.
We hope this article has inspired you to explore the world of April poetry and discover some new favorites of your own.
Please feel free to share your thoughts, comments, and favorite poems for April below!
