April rains are shod with silver Quick and flashing when they fall In a tempo gay and dashing, Like mad dancers at a ball. April rains are wild and wanton, Flinging all their riches down With a reckless, bright abandon, Like a spendthrift girl in town. April rains are silver-skirted, Wrapped in filmy veils of mist, Like the fragile harem beauties That the sun has never kissed. Silver-slippered rains of April, Where you dance, the grasses creep, And your whirling, tripping revels Wake the crocuses from sleep. |