Immortal sweetheart of the year,
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April, old Winter's darling;
The young frogs in the reedy mere,
Long before I, knew you were here;
The old wood knew it long ago,
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For he had felt you stealing,
To press your lips beneath the snow
Where the arbutus creeps to blow,
Still prisoned, too, the ice-hung stream,
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With half-heard laughing water,
Sang low of you, as in a dream,
To every wandering breeze and beam,—
Earth's dazzling daughter,
That now, like some young maenad flings
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Her flaming heart on gladness,
Yet hath in all the songs she sings,
'Mid all the wildness and the wings,
Sing to a younger heart than mine,
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Sweet April! promise-maker,
Dear sorceress of shower and shine,
Duping us still with dreams divine,
O April, promise-breaker!