The First Of April

Now if to be an April-fool
Is to delight in the song of the thrush,
To long for the swallow in air’s blue hollow,
And the nightingale’s riotous music-gush,
And to paint a vision of cities Elysian
Out away in the sunset-flush —
Then I grasp my flagon and swear thereby,
We are April-fools, my Love and I.

And if to be an April-fool
Is to feel contempt for iron and gold,
For the shallow fame at which most men aim —
And to turn from worldlings cruel and cold
To God in his splendor, loving and tender,
And to bask in his presence manifold —
Then by all the stars in his infinite sky,
We are April-fools, my Love and I.