You used to laugh at me and say I ran to meet the Spring, And that I went quite mad the day Wild plums were blossoming. But never again will I foolishly be So bold. I sit and wait, Half hoping Spring will never see My little picket gate. For I am sure I must not dare To meet her in the lane, Lest I should stumble on you there, A ghost in April rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIFTH AVENUE-SPRING AFTERNOON by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE YOUNG LAUNDRYMAN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |