Warm April fingers tap my window pane,
And April-footsteps patter on my roof.
Bright golden goblets fill with crystal rain.
The merry horsemen ride! Each magic hoof
Sends silver music echoing to the hills
Whose greening carpets are retrimmed with dock.
Ecstatically, a joyous lark-flute spills
A fount of jeweled blaze, but not to mock
The phoebe's gentle flare, but to express
A lilting rapture which cannot be stilled.
Ripples of youth, of springtime tenderness
Flow from my heart once more. My dreams fulfilled
Again I walk through valleys, lily-fair,
Hearing the call of beauty everywhere.
The Relief Society Magazine
