April Flowers.
Pale, blighted flowers, the summer time
Will smile on brighter leaves;
They will not wither in their prime,
Like a young heart that grieves;
But the impulsive buds that dare
The chill of April showers,
Breathe woman-love's low martyr prayer—
I kiss your leaves, pale flowers.
Will smile on brighter leaves;
They will not wither in their prime,
Like a young heart that grieves;
But the impulsive buds that dare
The chill of April showers,
Breathe woman-love's low martyr prayer—
I kiss your leaves, pale flowers.
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