APRIL VESPERS
The turtles drum in the pulseless bay,
The crickets creak in the prickful hedge,
The bull-frogs boom in the puddling sedge
And the whoopoe whoops its vesper lay
Away
In the twilight soft and gray.
Two lovers stroll in the glinting gloam—
His hand in her'n and her'n in his—
She blushes deep—he is talking biz—