Classic and Contemporary Poetry
APRIL, by REMY BELLEAU First Line: April, pryde of all the yeare Last Line: Into lyfe amid the foam. | ||||||||
APRIL, pryde of all the yeare When appeare Leaves, and sap in fleecy bud Gently stirs with hope to yield Fruit fulfilled From the younglynges of the wood; April, pryde of meadowe-sheene Gold and greene, She whose lavish whim doth shed Hues and flowers a thousand-fold On the moulde In her glory garmented; April, pryde of wyndes that sighe Lightly bye, In whose fannynge her slim thread Under boughs a snare doth weave To bereave Flora of her maidenhead; April, thy soft hande alone Slips the zone Laying Nature's bosom bare, Stored with odours and with flowers That in showers Sweeten all the earth and aire; April, pryde and pomp of Sprynge Flourishynge On my Ladye's locks that meet O'er her browes and on her bosom Brimmed with blossom Thousand-fold and full of sweet; April, on thy smilynge face Love's own grace, Lure and rapture of sweet breath; April, scent of Gods enshrined On the wynde Sheddynge odour far beneath; 'Tis thy gentle summonynge That doth brynge Back again the truant swallowes That in Winter fled afar, They that are Heralds to the Sprynge that followes. Thorny briar and thorny boughe Blossom nowe; Lilies, pinks, and roses red, That the sunny dayes do quicken Throng and thicken In their lovely robes outspread; And the nightyngale doth sweet Songs repeat; In the shade he warbles long, Breaks the lilt and links agayne The sweet chayne Of his never-endynge song. Love, when thou art haply come No more numb, Breathes agayne with gentle breath, And awakes the smoulderynge fire Of desire That chill Winter smotheréth. In this weather fresh and sunny Bees mayke honey, Swarmynge all the sweets to sup; Each from flow'r to flower dallies Deep in chalice There to drink its odour up. Maye perchance hath fresher wynde, Softer rind On her fruits, and dews that bear Manna and the sweet that thryves In the hives Fostered by her gracious aire; Yet my song I give to her That doth bear Her faire name that founde her home On the wavy sea that broke, And awoke Into lyfe amid the foam. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALONZO CHURCHILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS COR CORDIUM by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE BELLS AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HITOPADESA: DEDICATION by EDWIN ARNOLD OF GENERAL GOURAUD by ROBERTA BALFOUR ONCE & EVER by JOSEPH BEAUMONT GIVE NOT WITH YOUR HANDS by MACKNIGHT BLACK A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 30 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |
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