Rémy Belleau: April

APRIL, pride of woodland ways,Of glad days,April, bringing hope of prime,To the young flowers that beneathTheir bud sheathAre guarded in their tender time;

April, pride of fields that beGreen and free,That in fashion glad and gay,Stud with flowers red and blue,Every hue,Their jewelled spring array;

April, pride of murmuringWinds of spring,That beneath the winnowed air,Trap with subtle nets and sweetFlora’s feet,Flora’s feet, the fleet and fair;

April, by thy hand caressed,From her breastNature scatters everywhereHandfuls of all sweet perfumes,Buds and blooms,Making faint the earth and air.

April, joy of the green hours,Clothes with flowersOver all her locks of goldMy sweet Lady; and her breastWith the blestBirds of summer manifold.

April, with thy gracious wiles,Like the smiles,Smiles of Venus; and thy breathLike her breath, the Gods’ delight,(From their heightThey take the happy air beneath;)

It is thou that, of thy grace,From their placeIn the far-oft isles dost bringSwallows over earth and sea,Glad to beMessengers of thee, and Spring.

Daffodil and eglantine,And woodbine,Lily, violet, and rosePlentiful in April fair,To the air,Their pretty petals do unclose.

Nightingales ye now may hear,Piercing clear,Singing in the deepest shade;Many and many a babbled noteChime and float,Woodland music through the glade.

April, all to welcome thee,Spring sets freeAncient flames, and with low breathWakes the ashes grey and oldThat the coldChilled within our hearts to death.

Thou beholdest in the warmHours, the swarmOf the thievish bees, that fliesEvermore from bloom to bloomFor perfume,Hid away in tiny thighs.

Her cool shadows May can boast,Fruits almostRipe, and gifts of fertile dew,Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,That completeHer flower garland fresh and new.

Nay, but I will give my praise,To these days,Named with the glad name of HerThat from out the foam o’ the seaCame to beSudden light on earth and air.