65
I can’t tell you-but you feel it-
Nor can you tell me-
Saints, with ravished slate and pencil
Solve our April Day!
Sweeter than a vanished frolic
From a vanished green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a Ledge of dream!
Modest, let us walk among it
With our faces veiled-
As they say polite Archangels
Do in meeting God!
Not for me-to prate about it!
Not for you-to say
To some fashionable Lady
“Charming April Day”!
Rather-Heaven’s “Peter Parley”!
By which Children slow
To sublimer Recitation
Are prepared to go!
