65
I can't tell youbut you feel it
Nor can you tell me
Saints, with ravished slate and pencil
Solve our April Day!
Sweeter than a vanished frolic
From a vanished green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a Ledge of dream!
Modest, let us walk among it
With our faces veiled
As they say polite Archangels
Do in meeting God!
Not for meto prate about it!
Not for youto say
To some fashionable Lady
"Charming April Day"!
RatherHeaven's "Peter Parley"!
By which Children slow
To sublimer Recitation
Are prepared to go!