Daffodils / William Wordsworth

Daffodils 

 I wander'd lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

~~
William Wordsworth (1770-1850), April 1802
from the The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900

(edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch), 1919

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Wordsworth biography

"Daffodils (I wander'd lonely as a cloud)" read for Inspired Nature.

Blossom-Time / Hazel Hall

Blossom-Time

So long as there is April
My heart is high,
Lifting up its white dreams
To the sky.

As trees hold up their blossoms
In a blowing cloud,
My hands are reaching,
My hands are proud.

All the crumbled splendours
Of autumn, and the cries
Of winds that I remember
Cannot make me wise.

Like the trees of April
Fearless and fair —
My heart swings its censers
Through the golden air.

~~
Hazel Hall (1886-1924)
from Curtains, 1921

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Hazel Hall biography

Mjeltsch, Apple tree blossoms in Viiki, Helsinki, Finland, 2021.

CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Elegy / Florence Kilpatrick Mixter

Elegy

Maxim Beiashvili, Moon and apple

 blossom at night, April 2017 (detail).

 CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.

There is one Spring,
        One April of delight,
And all the rest is but remembering
        One moon-lit night.

Weave round its spell
        An elegy of song,
But never think the white hawthorn can dwell
        With you for long.

It is so fair
        And delicate a thing,
A sudden wind leaves blossoming twigs all bare
        Of covering.

White petals fall,
        Bewildered, at your feet,
And Spring makes of the whitest flower of all
        A winding sheet.

~~
Florence Kilpatrick Mixter (1877-1949)
from Out of Mist, 1921 

 [Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union] 

Florence Kilpatrick Mixter biography

April / Jane G. Austin

April

            Nay, laughing April, stay,
            And while I clasp thee, say:

Art thou a child whose wanton will
    Holds no deep wells of true desire?
Art thou a maid, ay, sweet and chill,
    Whose argent moon beams frozen fire?

She smiles, and weeps, and smiles again,
    Yet knows not why she smiles or weeps,
Unless o'er changeful hearts of men
    By charm of change her hold she keeps.

O changeful heart that cannot rest
    Because it seeks for something higher,
Scaling the heights to stand confessed,
    This is not yet what I desire.

For still beyond our feet or eyes
    In awful sheen there soars a crest.
On that dread height contentment lies,
    Come life, come death, I there will rest!

And so we pass within the cloud
    That hides the topmost mountain range,
And hidden in its frozen shroud,
    "We shall not die, but we shall change."

            So tearful April fies,
            Drawn up to summer skies.

~~
Jane G. Austin (1831-1894)
from Through the Year with the Poets: April, 1886

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Jane G. Austin biography

Thomson200, Allatoona Mountains seen from Kennesaw Mountain, April 2017 (detail).

CC0 1.0, public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

Easter-day / Henry Vaughan

Easter-day

Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low,
    Whose cloudy breast cold damps invade,
Who never feels the Sun, nor smooths thy brow,
    But sits oppressed in the shade,
                Awake, awake!
And in His Resurrection partake,
    Who, on this day (that thou might rise as He)
    Rose up, and cancelled two deaths due to thee.

Awake! awake! and like the Sun, disperse
    All mists that would usurp this day;
Where are thy Palms, thy branches, and thy verse?
    Hosanna! hark! why dost thou stay?
                Arise, arise,
And with His healing blood anoint thine eyes,
    Thy inward eyes; His blood will cure thy mind,
    Whose spittle only could restore the blind.

~~

Henry Vaughan (1622-1695)

from Silex Scintillans; or, Sacred poems

(edited by W.A. Lewis Bettany), 1905

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Henry Vaughan biography

Kay Kenyon, Easter Day on Cam Peak, 2011. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Easter / John Freeman

Easter

With Earth's arising riseth He from death,
        To all His faithful saith
                With urgent breath:

"Wake ye, out of your Winter-weary sleep!"
        And the slow pulses leap.
                No more then creep

The heavy days to night, and nights to day.
        The cloud-pack hastens away
                If He but say

Far off and faint and tremulous, "Awake!"
        How the heart's enemies quake
                When His steps shake

 
The silence they have woven as a shroud
        Upon it! Great and proud
                Alike they are bowed.

And as when lovely, radiant queenlike Spring
        Queenlike with her doth bring
                Every dear thing

Earth faints for; and the woods and gleaming meads
        Fulfilled are of their needs;
                And the lost seeds

Are found in keen green blades, and song again
        In birds, and the sweet rain
                Doth teach the plain

That gladness of the heaven-neighbouring hills;
        And the whole amazed Earth thrills
                With bliss that fills

Every hid channel and cell: — So when He rises
        In thousand sweet disguises,
                What swift surprises,

Heats, pregnant showers, flowers and rich airs He gives,
        Till the soul truly lives;
                And the fugitives —

Fear, Hate, Despair — ev'n as they fly are slain!
        O, precious ev'n the pain
                When in each vein

The leaping blood doth the old languors quicken;
        Precious, for hopes that sicken,
                To feel joys thicken

Like sudden leaves wherethrough the cool winds stir;
        Precious past gold and myrrh
                To feel Him near.

But as to some east hillside's dewless breast,
        Naked of leaf and nest,
                Spring, the loved guest,

Comes not, though all the woods her blisses cover.
        And larks but yonder hover
                The soft turf over;

Barren of Thy spring, Lord, unvisited
        Of any rains; but dead,
                Unmemoried,

My heart lies; yea, Thy spring neglects it yet.
        O, canst Thou still forget,
                My need forget?

~~
John Freeman (1880-1929)
from Fifty Poems, 1911

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

John Freeman biography

Jusben, Spring morning, 2011. CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.

April's featured poem

 

The Penny Blog's featured  poem for April 2026:

Two Tramps in Mud Time, by Robert Frost

[...]

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.

You know how it is with an April day

When the sun is out and the wind is still,

You’re one month on in the middle of May.

[...]

(read by Robert Frost)

https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2015/04/two-tramps-in-mud-time.html