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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
        Oh, the lovely fickleness of an April day!
W. H. Gibson.    
        Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn
  Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May
New blooming blossoms ’neath the sun are born,
And all poor April’s charms are swept away.
        The children with the streamlets sing,
  When April stops at last her weeping;
And every happy growing thing
  Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.
Lucy Larcom.    
        There is no glory in star or blossom
  Till looked upon by a loving eye;
There is no fragrance in April breezes
  Till breathed with joy as they wander by.
        Again the blackbirds sing; the streams
Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,
And tremble in the April showers
The tassels of the maple flowers.
                            When April winds
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,
Opened in airs of June her multitude
Of golden chalices to humming birds
And silken-wing’d insects of the sky.
        Sweet April! many a thought
  Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
  Life’s golden fruit is shed.
        Every tear is answered by a blossom,
  Every sigh with songs and laughter blent,
Apple-blooms upon the breezes toss them,
  April knows her own, and is content.
Susan Coolidge.    

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