11 APRIL
By Louis Ginsberg
EVEN when all my body sleeps，
I shall remember yet
The wistfulness that April keeps，
When boughs at dusk are wet．
The haunted twilight on the lane；
The far-off cricket's croon；
And beautiful and washed by rain，
The mellow rounded moon！
So，underneath the waving grass，
And underneath the dew，
April，whenever you will pass，
My dust will dream of you！
