God be praised for April weather —
All the world's carousing now;
Slipping every tie and tether,
Leaping from the winter's slough.
Earth-warm breezes faintly blowing,
Buds that dare to burst at last,
Rippling skies and green things growing
Stir me like a bugle blast.

All the pagan in me waking,
Runs to dance with feet of fire;
And my heart, a year's thirst slaking,
Seeks the well of my desire.
Quicker fly my pulses, quicker
Runs the world with naked glee;
And the tree-toad and the flicker
And the winds are one with me.

To be lying, swathed with grasses,
In some softly-stirring wood,
Where each gipsy breeze that passes
Hails my laugh of brotherhood.
Or to feel my body, slipping,
Cleave the water as I sink;
Then to shoot up cool and, dripping,
Fling myself upon the brink. . .

After all these sober ages,
Madness fresh each April brings;
What to me are strife and sages
When the first cock-robin sings. . .
I exult like one possessed, I'm
Drunken with the wine of youth.
Spring, you are the glad year's best time!
Life, you are Life's only truth!