April — Dull Afternoon
The sun for all his pride dims out and dies.
Afternoon sees not one
Of all those flames that lit the primrose lamps
At winter's hest fordone,
Like music eager curving or narrowing
From here to there. Strange how no mist can dull
Wholly the silver edge of April song
Though the air's a blanket weighing on like wool.
Afternoon sees not one
Of all those flames that lit the primrose lamps
At winter's hest fordone,
Like music eager curving or narrowing
From here to there. Strange how no mist can dull
Wholly the silver edge of April song
Though the air's a blanket weighing on like wool.
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