“Song of a Second April

APRIL this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
From orchards near and far away
The gray wood-pecker taps and bores,
And men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep;
Noisy and swift the small brooks run.
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun
Pensively; only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

April is a promise that May is bound to keep. – Hal Borland

Oh, to be in England now that April’s there. Robert Browning

Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come. Thomas Carlyle

April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom, holiday tables under the trees. E. Y. Harburg

So sweet love seemed that April morn. When first we kissed beside the thorn, So strangely sweet, it was not strange We thought that love could never change. – Robert Bridges

Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labour to overcome the cloud that loads ’em. Thomas Otway

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
― George Orwell, 1984

“April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.”
― T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

“Snow in April is abominable,” said Anne. “Like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss.”
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Ingleside

“Her laughter sounded like April showers, like whispered secrets, like glass wind-chimes.”
― Rebecca McNutt, Shadowed Skies: The Third Smog City Novel

 

“October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or shutting a book, did not end the tale.
Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: “It is simply a matter,” he explained to April, “of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 4: Season of Mists

“You spend so much time hating the fact that April behaves more like a mother than a sister, but you’re the one who’s holding onto the apron strings every time she tries to cut them.”
― Nicola Sinclair, Promise

“ ‘April, April, laugh thy girlish laughter, and the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears, April.’ ”
― Angus Wilson, No Laughing Matter

“April was just beginning, and after the warm spring day it turned cooler, slightly frosty, and a breath of spring could be felt in the soft, cold air. The road from the convent to town was sandy, they had to go at a walking pace; and on both sides of the carriage, in the bright, still moonlight, pilgrims trudged over the sand. And everyone was silent, deep in thought, everything around was welcoming, young, so near— the trees, the sky, even the moon—and one wanted to think it would always be so.”
― Anton Chekhov, Short Stories

“The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.”
― Helen Bevington, When Found, Make a Verse of

“I had a chat with May and I had a sweet talk with April but the lovely conversation that left me to ponder was the long talk I had with June. Mathematics came to tell me that May is 3, June is 4 and April is 5. ‘ This should have been the counting order’ Mathematics said to me, and added, if you add 3 and 5 you shall surely get 8 and if you find the mid of 8 you will get 4 which is June. Ask June why the disorder! So I quickly called June and asked, why have you change the order? June said, ‘my brother, in this era, you should least give men things which are in order. Let them ponder and put things in order and they will learn something better’. I had to ponder and wonder. Then June added, those who will ponder to know why I have change the order to be at the mid of the other shall get to the mid of the other and wonder why they are at the mid of the other and end the other in wonder but, those who would never see why they must ponder when they get to the mid of the other to know why I am there shall end the other in disorder. They shall end the other and wander in the end! I was quick to ask June, which other? June calmly said, the twelve disciples of the year. Disciples’? I asked. June quickly said, I mean months! In your journey of life, take a break as you journey and ponder over the journey; June concluded!”
― Ernest Agyemang Yeboah

Deep in my cortex, the year is divided into reading seasons. The period from mid-October to Christmas, for instance, is ‘ghost story’ time, while Jane Austen and P. G. Wodehouse pretty much own April and May. Michael Dirda

High school is a haunted house in April, when seniors act up because the end is near. Even those who hate school sometimes cling to the devil they know. And for the kids who love it, the goodbyes are hard to think about. – Nancy Gibbs