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Famous Short April Poems. Short April Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short April Poems. Short April Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best April short poems

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

 
by Emily Dickinson

Not at Home to Callers

 Not at Home to Callers
Says the Naked Tree --
Bonnet due in April --
Wishing you Good Day --


by Emily Dickinson

Spring is the Period

 Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God.


by Emily Dickinson

Absent Place -- an April Day --

 Absent Place -- an April Day --
Daffodils a-blow
Homesick curiosity
To the Souls that snow --

Drift may block within it
Deeper than without --
Daffodil delight but
Him it duplicate --


by Mother Goose

Thirty Days Hath September


Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year, that's the time
When February's days are twenty-nine.


by Sara Teasdale

But Not To Me

 The April night is still and sweet
 With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
 But not to me.
My peace is hidden in his breast Where I shall never be; Love comes to-night to all the rest, But not to me.


by Emily Dickinson

Pink -- small -- and punctual --

 Pink -- small -- and punctual --
Aromatic -- low --
Covert -- in April --
Candid -- in May --
Dear to the Moss --
Known to the Knoll --
Next to the Robin
In every human Soul --
Bold little Beauty
Bedecked with thee
Nature forswears
Antiquity --


by Ogden Nash

Always Marry An April Girl

 Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy, Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy; April soft in flowered languor, April cold with sudden anger, Ever changing, ever true -- I love April, I love you.


by Robert Herrick

THE SUCCESSION OF THE FOUR SWEET MONTHS

 First, April, she with mellow showers
Opens the way for early flowers;
Then after her comes smiling May,
In a more rich and sweet array;
Next enters June, and brings us more
Gems than those two that went before;
Then, lastly, July comes, and she
More wealth brings in than all those three.


by Emily Dickinson

The Robin is the One

 The Robin is the One
That interrupt the Morn
With hurried -- few -- express Reports
When March is scarcely on --

The Robin is the One
That overflow the Noon
With her cherubic quantity --
An April but begun --

The Robin is the One
That speechless from her Nest
Submit that Home -- and Certainty
And Sanctity, are best


by Sara Teasdale

Gray Eyes

 It was April when you came
The first time to me,
And my first look in your eyes
Was like my first look at the sea.
We have been together Four Aprils now Watching for the green On the swaying willow bough; Yet whenever I turn To your gray eyes over me, It is as though I looked For the first time at the sea.


by Sylvia Plath

Child

 Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks, The zoo of the new Whose name you meditate -- April snowdrop, Indian pipe, Little Stalk without wrinkle, Pool in which images Should be grand and classical Not this troublous Wringing of hands, this dark Ceiling without a star.


by Emily Dickinson

His Mansion in the Pool

 His Mansion in the Pool
The Frog forsakes --
He rises on a Log
And statements makes --
His Auditors two Worlds
Deducting me --
The Orator of April
Is hoarse Today --
His Mittens at his Feet
No Hand hath he --
His eloquence a Bubble
As Fame should be --
Applaud him to discover
To your chagrin
Demosthenes has vanished
In Waters Green --


by Robert Frost

Blue-Butterfly Day

 It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing: And now from having ridden out desire They lie closed over in the wind and cling Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.


by Mother Goose

March Winds


March winds and April showers
Bring forth May flowers.

    Hot-cross Buns!
    Hot-cross Buns!
One a penny, two a penny,
    Hot-cross Buns!
    Hot-cross Buns!
    Hot-cross Buns!
If ye have no daughters,
Give them to your sons.


by John Gould Fletcher

Take Oh Take Those Lips Away

 Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain.
Hide, oh hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are yet of those that April wears.
But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.


by William Henry Davies

Laughing Rose

 If I were gusty April now, 
How I would blow at laughing Rose; 
I'd make her ribbons slip their knots, 
And all her hair come loose.
If I were merry April now, How I would pelt her cheeks with showers; I'd make carnations, rich and warm, Of her vermillion flowers.
Since she will laugh in April's face No matter how he rains or blows -- Then O that I wild April were, To play with laughing Rose.


by Robert Browning

Youll love me yet!—and I can tarry

 You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed At least is sure to strike, And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like! You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What's death?—You'll love me yet!


by Duncan Campbell Scott

Afterwards

 Her life was touched with early frost,
About the April of her day,
Her hold on earth was lightly lost,
And like a leaf she went away.
Her soul was chartered for great deeds, For gentle war unwonted here: Her spirit sought her clearer needs, An Empyrean atmosphere.
At hush of eve we hear her still Say with her clear, her perfect smile, And with her silver-throated thrill: "A little while - a little while.
"


by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Marzo Pazzo

 Mad March, with the wind in his wings wide-spread,
Leaps from heaven, and the deep dawn's arch
Hails re-risen again from the dead
Mad March.
Soft small flames on rowan and larch Break forth as laughter on lips that said Nought till the pulse in them beat love's march.
But the heartbeat now in the lips rose-red Speaks life to the world, and the winds that parch Bring April forth as a bride to wed Mad March.


by Claude McKay

Spring in New Hampshire

 Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night, Too faintly sweet the first May flowers, The stars too gloriously bright, For me to spend the evening hours, When fields are fresh and streams are leaping, Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.


by Richard Brautigan

To England

 There are no postage stamps that send letters
back to England three centuries ago,
no postage stamps that make letters
travel back until the grave hasn't been dug yet,
and John Donne stands looking out the window,
it is just beginning to rain this April morning,
and the birds are falling into the trees
like chess pieces into an unplayed game,
and John Donne sees the postman coming up the street,
the postman walks very carefully because his cane
is made of glass.


by Sara Teasdale

Houses Of Dreams

 You took my empty dreams
 And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
 April and the sun.
The old empty dreams Where my thoughts would throng Are far too full of happiness To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim And the empty dreams were wide, They were sweet and shadowy houses Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away And you made them all come true -- My thoughts have no place now to play, And nothing now to do.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

Loud And Low In The Chimney

 LOUD and low in the chimney
The squalls suspire;
Then like an answer dwindles
And glows the fire,
And the chamber reddens and darkens
In time like taken breath.
Near by the sounding chimney The youth apart Hearkens with changing colour And leaping heart, And hears in the coil of the tempest The voice of love and death.
Love on high in the flute-like And tender notes Sounds as from April meadows And hillside cotes; But the deep wood wind in the chimney Utters the slogan of death.