Perhaps most of all
he has taken April into his heart, as his essay on it in "Birds and
Poets" will show:--
How it [April] touches one and makes him both glad and sad! The
voices of the arriving birds, the migrating fowls, the clouds of
pigeons sweeping across the sky or filling the woods, the elfin
horn of the first honey-bee venturing abroad in the middle of
the day, the clear piping of the little frogs in the marshes at
sundown, the camp-fire in the sugar-bush, the smoke seen afar
rising over the trees, the tinge of green that comes so suddenly
on the sunny knolls and slopes, the full translucent streams, the
waxing and warming sun,--how these things and others like them are
noted by the eager eye and ear! April is my natal month, and I am
born again into new delight and new surprises at each return of it.
Its name has an indescribable charm to me. Its two syllables are
like the calls of the first birds,--like that of the phoebe-bird,
or of the meadowlark.
But why continue? The whole essay breathes of swelling buds,
springing grass, calls of birds, April flowers, April odors,
and April's uncloying freshness and charm. As we realize what the
returning spring brings to this writer, we say with Bliss Carman:--
"Make [him] over. Mother April,
When the sap begins to stir.
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