April

April has searched the winter land
And found her petted flowers again.
She kissed them to unfold her leaves,
She coaxed them with her sun and rain,
And filled the grass with green content,
And made the woods and clover vain.

Her crocuses and violets
Give all the world a gay “Good year.”
Tall irises grow tired of green,
And get themselves a purple gear;

She fills the dusk of deepest woods
With vague sweet sunshine and surprise,
And wakes the periwinkles up
To watch her with their wide, blue eyes.

And when she sees the deeper suns
That usher in the happy May,
She sighs to think her time is past,
And weeps because she cannot stay;
So leaves her tears upon the grass,
And turns her face and glides away.

Note:

Today is the birthday of the suffragist, animal rights activist, and American poet Hannah Rebecca Hudson, born on this day, January 13, 1847.

Not much is known about the life of Hannah Hudson, but gardeners love her poetry.  Hannah’s beloved poem called “April” was featured in The Atlantic Monthly, April 1868.

In 1874, when she was 27, Hannah published a book of her original poetry.

Hannah was a charter member of the Woburn Women's Club.

At the age of 74, Hannah died sitting at her aunt’s kitchen table in Woburn, Massachusetts. Hannah is buried at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Massachusetts.