Here you will find the Poem April of poet John Crowe Ransom
SAVOR of love is thick on the April air, The blunted boughs dispose their lacy bloom, And many sorry steeds dismissed to pasture Toss their old forelocks, flourish heavy heels. Where is there any unpersuaded poet So angry still against the wrongs of winter Which caused the dainty earth to droop and die, So vengeant for his vine and summer song, As to decline the good releasing thaw? Poets have temperature and follow seasons, And covenants go out at equinox. The champions! For Heaven, riding high Above the icy death, considered truly; 'My agate icy work, I thought it fair; Yet I have lacked that pretty lift of praise That mounted once from these emaciate minstrels. They will not sing, and duty drops away And I must turn and make a soft amend!' At once he showered April down, until The bleak twigs bloom again; and soon, I swear, He shall receive his praise.
