Ican'ttellyou

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!