An April Gust

It shall be as it hath been. All the world is glad and green-- Hush! Ah, hush! There cannot be April now for you and me. Put your finger on the lips Of your soul; the wild rain drips; The wind goes diving down the sea; Tell the wind, but tell not me. Yet if I had aught to tell, High as heaven, or deep as hell, Bent the fates awry or fit, I would find a word for it. Oh, words that neither sea nor land Can lift their ears to understand! Wild words, as dumb as death or fear, I dare to die, but not to hear!