(10 November 1852 – 10 April 1933 / Germantown, Pennsylvania)

My April Lady

When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.

When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.

My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.

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Comments (4)

What amazing description of a day... and of moods. Only a true poet can do this.
What a loving poem! He gives her a deeper character by adding grief than she would have had if he only portrayed her as sunny. I think we have just been gifted with a peek in the daily lives of a couple deeply in love and it was, pardon the adjective, sweet
Sweet rivulets of laughter! Nice piece of work.
Superb poem with amazing flow depicting motley moods of the April lady in a magnificent manner.