AN APRIL DAY.
Reading edition
The spring has come, the low south wind
Is breathing sweet,—
The showers are patt’ring in the wood,
Like fairy feet.
Hark! in yon silent grove a bird
Pours out its lay,—
Such strains, I ween, have not been heard
For many a day.
The feath’ry clouds scud o’er the sky,
The sun between,—
A thousand rain-drops glisten bright,
Upon the green.
And such is life—an April morn,
A changing sky,—
To mingled joy and grief we’re born,
And born to die.
A. A. I.
Philadelphia, March, 1841.