Never was sweeter music — 



Sunshine turned into song. 

 To set us dreaming of summer, 



When the days and the dreams are long. 



Winged lute that we call a bluebird, 



You blend in a silver strain 

 The sound of the laughing waters, 



The patter of spring's sweet rain, 

 The voice of the wind, the sunshine, 



And fragrance of blossoming things. 

 Ah ! you are a poem of April, 



That God endowed with wings. 



Eben. E. Rexford. 



