never was sweeter music—

sunshine turned into song.

to set us dreaming of summer,

when the days and the dreams are long.

winged lute that we call a bluebird,

you blend in a silver strain

the sound of the laughing waters,

the patter of spring's sweet rain,

the voice of the wind, the sunshine,

and fragrance of blossoming things.

ah! you are a poem of april,

that god endowed with wings.

eben. e. rexford.