28 APRIL 1888, Page 15

AN APRIL LOVE.

NAY, be not June, nor yet December, dear,

But April always, as I find thee now : A constant freshness unto me be thou, And not the ripeness that must soon be sere.

Why should I be Time's dupe, and wish more near The sobering harvest of thy vernal vow?

I am content, so still across thy brow Returning smile chase transitory tear.

Then scatter thy April heart in sunny showers; I want nor Summer drouth nor Winter's sleet : As Spring be fickle, so thou be as sweet ; With half-kept promise tantalise the hours ; And let Love's frolic hands and woodland feet Fill high the lap of Life with wilding flowers.

ALFRED AUSTIN.