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To-morrow a glory will brighten the earth, While the spirit of beauty rejoicing has birth.

Farewell to thee, April, a gentle farewell, Thou hast saved the young rose in its emerald cell; Sweet nurse, thou hast mingled thy sunshine and showers, Like kisses and tears, on thy children the flowers. As a hope, when fulfilled, to sweet memory turns, We shall think of thy clouds as the odorous urns, Whence colour, and freshness, and fragrance were wept; We shall think of thy rainbows, their promise is kept. There is not a cloud on the morning's blue way, And the daylight is breaking, the first of the May.