Frederick Goddard Tuckerman (Фредерик Годдард Такерман)

April

The first of April! yet November's haze
Hangs on the wood, and blurs the hill's blue tip:
The light of noon rests wanly on the strip
Of sandy road, recalling leaf-laid ways,
Shades stilled in death, and tender twillight days
Ere Winter lifts the wind-trump to his lip.
No moss is shyly seen a tuft to raise,
Nor under grass a gold-eyed flower to dip;
Nor sound is breathed, but haply the south west
Faint rippling in the brushes of the pine,
Or of the shrunken leaf dry-fluttering.
Compact the village lies, a whitened line
Gathered in smoke. What holds this brooding rest?
Is it dead Autumn, or the dreaming Spring?

1. Third Series. 4. Thin little leaves of wood fern, ribbed and toothed
2. First Series. 8. As when down some broad river dropping, we
3. First Series. 7. Dank fens of cedar, hemlock branches gray
4. Second Series. 7. His heart was in his garden; but his brain
5. Second Series. 1. That boy, the farmer said, with hazel wand

Sara Teasdale (Сара Тисдейл) April ("THE roofs are shining from the rain")

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