April unlocks the door of spring,
And soon you'll hear a robin sing.
A bluebird perched upon a tree
Will woo his mate. Perchance you'll see
An early redwing, if you go
Down to the swamp where catkins grow.
For April warden is, of all
The things that went to sleep, last fall.
Just where the field mouse and the toad
Have burrowed; where, beside the road,