Song of a Second April
Edna St. Vincent Millay
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There lies a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps
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