Come up, April, through the valley,
In your robes of beauty dressed.
Come and wake your flowery children
From their wintry bed of rest.
Come and overblow them softly
With the sweet breath of the south.
Drop upon them, warm and loving,
Tenderest kisses from your mouth.
Call the crow-foot and the crocus,
Call the pale anenome.
Call the violet and the daisy
Clothed with careful modesty:
Seek the low and humble blossoms,
Of their beauty unaware.
Let the dandelion and fennel
Show their golden hair.
~ Pheobe Cary