Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/84

 Sweet, rosy April—laughing, sighing, waiting Until the gateway swings, And she and Lent can kiss between the grating Of Easter's tissue wings. Too brief the bliss—the parting comes with sorrow. Good-bye dear Lent, good-bye! We'll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow Against the far blue sky.