DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 99 
On every bough there is a bud, 
In every bud a flower; 
But scarcely bud or flower will last 
Beyond the present hour. 
Now comes a shower-cloud o’er the sky, 
Then all again sunshine; 
Then clouds again, but brightened with 
The rainbow’s colored line. 
Ay, this, this is the month for me! 
I could not love a scene 
Where the blue sky was always blue, 
The green earth always green. 
It is like love; 0, love should be 
An ever-changing thing, — 
The love that I could worship must 
Be ever on the wing. 
Sweet April! thou the emblem art 
Of what my love must be; 
One varying like the varying bloom 
Is just the love for me. 
