Here you will find the Poem April In September of poet Katharine Lee Bates
WHAT song is in the sap of this brave oak-tree That to the north-star faces, Ravened each June by caterpillar masses Till all its leaves are laces, Poor shreds whose very shadow grieves the grasses? I leave it then, but roses and the smoke-tree Look from the lawn below it And watch for that gold witch, Midsummer Weather, With magic breath to blow it Free of its foes, whose wings make mirth together. Vital as Igdrasil, immortal folk-tree, When I return, its losses Are all restored, its fresh, soft foliage gleaming With peach and citron glosses, A Druid that is never done with dreaming.
