Classic Poem

There is an April hour
When leaves like green moths stir,
Persephone comes from the dusk,
The catbirds call for her.

If you will come when morning
Peers over purple hills,
And find a sheltered place to lay
Green splashed gold daffodils —

(A low stone wall is choicest,
Set by some field where soon
A young man will come plowing
Through a long afternoon.)

Then hide in some green thicket
Of birch or viburnum,
And wait a breathless moment
And you will see her come.

Her eyes are used to darkness,
She shades them with her hand,
But when she sees your flowers
She will understand.

She comes out for a moment
On April days, I think.
There is a little stream I know
Where she will drink.

She runs before the high sun,
Then all the long year through,
Although you call and call for her
She will not answer you.