In April

Let me introduce a lovely poem, written some 95 years ago by Ranier Maria Rilke, which moves me very much. I read it in poems.org (a website run by the Academy of American poets)

Rainer Maria Rilke was born in Prague on December 4, 1875. The author of several collections of poetry and prose, Rilke is recognized by many as a master of verse. He died on December 29, 1926.

In April 

Again the woods are odorous, the lark
Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray
That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark,
Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.

After long rainy afternoons an hour
Comes with its shafts of golden light and flings
Them at the windows in a radiant shower,
And rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.

Then all is still. The stones are crooned to sleep
By the soft sound of rain that slowly dies;
And cradled in the branches, hidden deep
In each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies.

I just love the beauty of 'In April'.

'In April' appeared in 'Poems' (T.A. Wright, 1918), translated by Jessie Lemont

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