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Quotations about April
March borrows nine days of April. ~Folk-Lore from Maryland, collected by Annie Weston Whitney and Caroline Canfield Bullock, 1925
April mixes silver rain
And golden sun to suds
To wash the scarlet petticoats
Of the little maple buds.
~Frances Frost, "Spring Families," The Little Whistler, 1949
April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing...
~William Shakespeare
Our spring has come at last with the soft laughter of April suns and shadow of April showers. ~Byron Caldwell Smith (1849–1877), letter to Kate Stephens (1853–1938)
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads...
~William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, c.1594 [I, 2, Capulet]
There are no days in the whole round year more delicious than those which often come to us in the latter half of April... The sun trembles in his own soft rays... The grass in the meadow seems all to have grown green since yesterday... though there is warmth enough for a sense of luxury, there is coolness enough for exertion. ~Thomas Wentworth Higginson, "April Days," 1861
April... is the miracle month. ~Charles Lee, "Aprille," An Almanac of Reading, 1940
April has searched the winter land
And found her petted flowers again;
She kissed them to unfold her leaves,
She coaxed them with her sun and rain,
And filled the grass with green content,
And made the woods and clover vain.
~Hannah R. Hudson, "April," The Atlantic Monthly, April 1868
Her fairies climb the bare, brown trees,
And set green caps on every stalk;
Her primroses peep bashfully
From borders of the garden walk,
And in the reddened maple tops
Her blackbird gossips sit and talk.
~Hannah R. Hudson, "April," The Atlantic Monthly, April 1868
And when she sees the deeper suns
That usher in the happy May,
She sighs to think her time is past,
And weeps because she cannot stay;
So leaves her tears upon the grass,
And turns her face and glides away.
~Hannah R. Hudson, "April," The Atlantic Monthly, April 1868
The warm, moist kiss of April on the grass... ~Philip Henry Savage (1868–1899)
April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet...
~Sara Coleridge (1802–1852), "The Months"
But days even earlier than these in April have a charm, — even days that seem raw and rainy... There is a fascination in walking through these bare early woods, — there is such a pause of preparation, winter's work is so cleanly and thoroughly done. Everything is taken down and put away... All else is bare, but prophetic: buds everywhere, the whole splendor of the coming summer concentrated in those hard little knobs on every bough... ~Thomas Wentworth Higginson, "April Days," 1861
Still, in the meadow by the brook I lay
And felt the April creep along my streams,
Subdue my currents to herself and play
At hide-and-seek with winter in my dreams.
~Philip Henry Savage (1868–1899)
An April day is waking.
God's promises are true.
The crocus buds are breaking,
With smiles, the brown earth through...
~Sara L. Vickers Oberholtzer, "April Courage," Souvenirs of Occasions, 1892
Ah! welcome, sweet April,
Whose feet on the hills,
Have walked down the valleys,
And crossed o'er the rills;
The pearls that you bring us
Are dews and warm showers,
And the hem of your garments
Is broidered with flowers.
~Mrs. M. J. Smith, "April Flowers"
Were there no month of April, man would be a great deal more virtuous. The budding plants are a set of accomplices! Love is the thief, Spring the receiver. ~Victor Hugo, The Man Who Laughs, 1869, translated from the French by Joseph L. Blamire
I would spend a morning
With an April apple tree,
Speaking to it softly,
And laughing out in glee.
All the summer sunshine
And all the winter moon
Are shining in the blossoms
That will be gone so soon...
~George Elliston, "April Morning," Through Many Windows, 1924
April is a time of wonder, when the spring peepers emerge from hibernation and begin to call, when robins and redwing blackbirds come back north, and when new green life appears. That is one of the greatest of all wonders, the growth of a bud and a leaf from a seed or a root that has lain dormant in the earth all winter. ~Hal Borland (1900–1978)
Lady April, it is clear,
Is the spoilt child of the Year.
See her tears about to start—
Thus she melts old Winter's heart...
~Oliver Herford, "April," The Smoker's Year Book, 1908
Here by the brimming April streams,
Here is the valley of my dreams.
Every garden place is seen
Starting up in flames of green;
Breaking forth in yellow gold
Through the blanket of the mold.
Slow unfolded, one by one,
Lantern leaves hang in the sun,
Like the butterflies of June
Weak and wet from the cocoon.
~Philip Henry Savage (1868–1899), "Posthumous Poems," The Poems of Philip Henry Savage, 1901
O my delicious April, never cease
To weep and smile at once!
~Alfred Austin, Savonarola: A Tragedy, 1881
The roads shall not be vacant of my feet
This windy morning underneath this sky
That flows like some old river over me...
The trees that walked before me in the fields
And stand like ladies now with blowing hair,
I shall have words for them this April day—
Two words of silence lost into a prayer.
~Marshall Schacht, "Excursions," 1920s
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!
~William Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, c.1594 [I, 3, Proteus]
Love is like an April day,
Half of sunshine, half of shower;
Right the poets, they who say
Love is like an April day—
Silver lined, deny who may,
Are the clouds that darkly lower—
Love is like an April day,
Half of sunshine, half of shower.
~Jean Wright
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.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.
~Robert Frost, "Two Tramps in Mud Time," 1934
Between tears and smiles, the year, like the child, struggles into the warmth of life. The old year, — say what the chronologists will, — lingers upon the very lap of spring; and is only fairly gone, when the blossoms of April have strewn their pall of glory upon his tomb, and the blue-birds have chanted his requiem.
It always seems to me as if an access of life came with the melting of the winter's snows; and as if every rootlet of grass that lifted its first green blade from the matted debris of the old year's decay, bore my spirit upon it, nearer to the largess of Heaven.
The April 's in her eyes: it is love's spring,
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful.
~William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, c.1606 [III, 2, Antony]
A welcome to April with joy for the year,
The winter has gone, the spring-time is here,
When the first blades of grass with whispers of green,
And buds with their promise are by waiting eyes seen.
The first nests of birdlings, the first flowers appear,
The light of our eyes, the joy of the year.
The door of the seasons just now stands ajar,
Through which we may peep to the bright days afar,
The bees know their haunts, the first pollen secure...
The crows have come forth surveying the land...
There is hope in their cawing that warm days are near,
When the blossoms of spring-time in fruits shall appear.
The maple buds burst, the willows stand out,
And shake their spring perfume like incense about.
Then welcome to April with hope for the year,
The winter has gone, fair spring-time is here.
~Phebe A. Holder, "An April Song"
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published 2012 Jan 14
revised 2021 Mar 2
last saved 2024 Jun 11
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