Early April / James Oppenheim

Early April

To a bird's high-piped preamble,
    Hark! a glory through the Park,
Through the saplings and the bramble
    Sparkling over the dripping bark,
Sunlight fell, golden-hued,
    Fall'n without a warning,
Kissing the caverns of the wood
    On an April morning.

Robin, Robin Redbreast
    Danced upon the turf,
In the lake the ripple's crest
    Mimic'd Ocean's surf.
And the branches splattered the dew
    Over the lush, wet ground —
Dawn only lacked of you
    To have its glory crowned.

In the ample stretch of heaven
    There was not a fleck, a streamer,
All the perfect air was given,
    Delicious food, to me, the dreamer;
Loaf, laze and idle
    The delicate dawn away,
With thoughts of the bridal
    On a rare June day.

I sat all alone,
    Squirrels tufted their tails,
And silver fancies, shower-strown,
    I beat, as with a flail,
Shaping them now to the fluty
    Lyric of a bird.
Now to the rose-bud beauty
    Of a golden word.

Oh, what is a pleasure
    If It is not shared?
What the sweetest leisure
    When a heart's unpaired?
It is as if a ring
    Lacked its perfect stone —
On that dancing morning of Spring
    I sat there alone.

~~

James Oppenheim (1882-1932)

from Monday Morning, and other poems, 1909

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

James Oppenheim biography