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Love is the master key which opens the gates of happiness.
Oliver Wendell Holmes
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April is the fourth month of the year.


  • Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
    The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
    And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
    Of which vertu engendred is the flour
  • Oh to be in England
    Now that April's there,
    And whoever wakes in England
    Sees, some morning, unaware,
    That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
    Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
    While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
    In England - now!
  • April, April,
    Laugh thy girlish laughter;
    Then, the moment after,
    Weep thy girlish tears!
  • Will you not come home, brother? you have been long away,
    It's April, and blossom time, and white is the spray;
    And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain, -­
    Will you not come home, brother, home to us again?
  • I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
    Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:
    I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
    Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
  • If April showers
    Should come your way,
    They bring the flowers
    That bloom in May.
  • April is the cruellest month, breeding
    Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
    Memory and desire, stirring
    Dull roots with spring rain.
    Winter kept us warm, covering
    Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
    A little life with dried tubers.

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