Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May New blooming blossoms neath the sun are born, And all poor Apr….

He could not die when the trees were green, For he loved the time too well..

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there..

The thorn tree just began to bud And greening stained the sheltering hedge, An many a violet beside the wood Peeped blue between the withered sedg….