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I cant tell you -- but you feel it -- Nor can you tell me -- Saints, with ravished slate and pencil Solve our April Day! Sweeter than a vanished frolic From a vanished green! Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen Round a Ledge of dream! Modest, let us walk among it With our faces veiled -- As they say polite Archangels Do in meeting God! Not for me -- to prate about it! Not for you -- to say To some fashionable Lady Charming April Day! Rather -- Heavens Peter Parley! By which Children slow To sublimer Recitation Are prepared to go! | 
