Renewal

April, when I heard Your lyrical low word, And when upon the hawthorn hedge your first white blossom stirred, Something strangely came⁠— Something I cannot name⁠— And touched my heart, and cleansed my soul with a reviving flame. When the yellow gleam Of your hosts that stream⁠— Jonquil, buttercup, and crocus—made the world a golden dream, Something, April, said To my heart that bled⁠— Bled with old remembrance—“Lo, the grief-strewn days are fled!” Sursum corda! Now, When blooms the apple-bough, April, of your pity, let your light rain kiss my brow; Heal me, if you will; Bathe my heart until I am one with your first primrose or the shining daffodil!