Oh! Say not the lover's
and poet's month is May!
No, 'tis her young sister,
The primrose-kirtled Fay!
With rainbows, but dropping
to rise again in flow'rs,
and silver clouds, melting
in yet more silv'ry show'rs.
Hail April, fresh April,
thou sweetest blossom-queen
with star-crown of daisies
and throne of tender green!

O welcome, thrice welcome,
thou softly blushing maid!
To thee sings the skylark
his blithest serenade.
Hail sungleams and shadows
and dews of liquid light,
like love, weeping smiler,
whose very tears are bright.
Hail April, fresh April,
thou sweetest blossom-queen
with star-crown of daisies
and throne of tender green!