Poem of the Day

Blue Squills 

by Sara Teasdale

How many million Aprils came 

   Before I ever knew 
How white a cherry bough could be, 
   A bed of squills, how blue. 

And many a dancing April 
   When life is done with me, 
Will lift the blue flame of the flower 
   And the white flame of the tree. 

Oh, burn me with your beauty, then, 
   Oh, hurt me, tree and flower, 
Lest in the end death try to take 
   Even this glistening hour. 

O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees, 
   O sunlit white and blue, 
Wound me, that I through endless sleep 
   May bear the scar of you. 

Poem of the Day

An April Night 

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods,
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,
Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds
Over the pools and the whimpering rills;

And with her the mists, like dryads that creep
From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs,
Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep,
With the wind on the hills their gay revellings.

Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow
Wanders Will-o'-the-Wisp through the night,
Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago
By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light.

The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear,
Akin to all eerie and elfin things,
Who weaves about us in meadow and mere
The spell of a hundred vanished Springs.