Inside: Fresh April poems for you this spring.
While we all know that March is the beginning of something new with a fresh spring season, there’s nothing like the breath of fresh warm air that April brings in. April is when temperatures really start to rise, and while it does also tend to bring plenty of rain, it’s something that’s been desperately needed for a long time. And makes way for the spring blooms in May. You know what they say… April showers bring May flowers! And I can’t help but be thankful for the flowers when they come.
If you’re like me and ready to welcome the spring weather to the transition into summer, then these April poems are for you! What better way to ring in the lovely month than with some poetry that honors and celebrates all of the changes and seasonal drifts that come to us in April.
Check out these April poems.
A fresh start comes with each new year, new season, and new month. If you’re in need of a fresh start, April is your friend. As the sunshine begins to return to us and as we start to make our way back to the outdoors into kinder climates, we can welcome the change and more positive thinking. Let these poems trigger those happy and forward thoughts.
Not to mention, April is national poetry month! So let’s celebrate together with some poems about the month of April and all of the positivity and kindness that it brings after such a harsh winter.
Why Celebrate National Poetry Month
As with everything else in life, the more we focus on it to celebrate it, the more we grow to appreciate and value it. And as you focus on, celebrate, and honor a form of art, the more awareness and appreciation comes to the art form and its artists.
Poetry is an art form that is hardly hidden and obscure, as it’s something we all learn about in school and even practice within creative writing in lower elementary grades while growing up. Poetry isn’t a new thing, and while we don’t need to raise awareness to the general existence of the art of poetry, there is a lack of understanding and appreciation for the art form.
If you’re here and have been visiting AestheticPoems for a while now, you likely already enjoy and appreciate the art of poetic writing. But as the month of April highlights, elevates, and brings forward different authors and poets and showcases phenomenal poetry, there’s likely going to be an influx of people that don’t normally bring themselves to enjoy poetry that will begin to dive deep into it.
All it takes is a simple highlight sometimes to enlighten people to a new art that they had neglected to take interest in. Not to mention it’s a great opportunity to uplift and give underground poets and artists a time to shine. Let’s celebrate this month and bring a light to a beautiful and at times, slightly underrated art form.
Spring poetry is so sweet, as it highlights the warmth of the new season coming to us as the days and weeks tick on through the harsh winter. March is truly the beginning of spring, but as the transition isn’t always on a straight path to warmer weather, I sometimes like to lump March in with the winter months. As April brings forward the different kinds of weather, it’s preparing us for the full transition to the spring and summer seasons, so get cozy, get ready to embrace the gentle spring breeze, and have fun this April.
1. April Showers Bring May Flowers
April showers bring May flowers,
That is what they say.
But if all the showers turned to flowers,
We’d have quite a colourful day!
There’d be bluebells and cockleshells,
Tulips red and green,
Daffodils and Chinese squill,
The brightest you’ve ever seen.
You’d see tiger lilies and water lilies,
Carnations pink and blue,
Forget-me-not and small sundrop
Glistening with the dew.
We’d have fireweed and milkweed
And many more different flowers.
Mexican star and shooting star,
Falling in the showers.
And if all the showers turned to flowers
On that rainy April day,
Would all the flowers turn to showers
In the sunny month of May?
by Karen Chappell
2. April Showers
There fell an April shower, one night:
Next morning, in the garden-bed,
The crocuses stood straight and gold:
“And they have come,” the children said.
There fell an April shower, one night:
Next morning, thro’ the woodland spread
The Mayflowers, pink and sweet as youth:
“And they are come,” the children said.
There fell an April shower, one night:
Next morning, sweetly, overhead,
The blue-birds sung, the blue-birds sung:
“And they have come,” the children said.
by Mary E. Wilkins
3. The Duality of Spring
Spring is not all sunshine and flowers,
Though the world may paint it so in hues.
With buzzing bees and April showers,
It brings a host of troubles to renew.
The insects swarm, a constant nuisance,
Their bites and stings a bitter plight.
The mud that clings, a dirty bonus,
A messy trail that mars the sight.
The sneezing fits, the streaming eyes,
Hay fever’s curse upon the land.
A season’s beauty, clouded by lies,
A winter’s rest, a welcome hand.
But let us not forget the beauty,
That springtime holds, in all its duty.
by Michelle Faulkner
4. Canterbury Tales
Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour
Which roughly translated and simplified becomes:
April showers come and drive away the drought of March, bringing flowers (in May)
5. April Showers
The skies darken
And around me
The pressure builds
With a burst, I feel
The first fat drops
Of rain as they begin to
And the trees
Start to reach towards
Each and every drop
For the April showers
Have come, and with them
Have brought back life and
I, a flower
You, a shower of April
With your laugh and smile
The drops of life
That I begin to reach for
After this latest winter’s
My sky is dark
And you, the break
Able to burst through the clouds
And wash away the debris
Leaving me rejuvenated and
Blooming, as the sun beams my
I want to be with you
And continue to grow
Through each spring
And the winters
To come, cause dear
You aid me in expansion
And push me past my natural
I fall for you
Like rain from cloud to ground
Like a thick trunked tree with deep roots
My deepest freeze, you thaw
Like the snows in spring
Fill me with happiness
Like the songbirds chirping their songs
For the things I would do for you
There truly are no
6. Always Marry An April Girl Poem
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.
by Ogden Nash
7. It Was An April Morning: Fresh And Clear Poem
It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man’s speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between
Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
Such an entire contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.–Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd’s dog, the linnet and the thrush
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
Or like some natural produce of the air,
That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But ’twas the foliage of the rocks–the birch,
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
With hanging islands of resplendent furze:
And, on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
‘Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.’
—-Soon did the spot become my other home,
My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
Years after we are gone and in our graves,
When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of EMMA’S DELL.
by William Wordsworth
8. A Well-Worn Story Poem
IN April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.
His eyes were hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.
Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.
In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.
Now what should I do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face
And spoil a page with rhymes.
by Dorothy Parker
9. A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston Poem
Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy’s
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
story. Someday, I promised her, I’ll be someone
going somewhere and we plotted it in the humdrum
school for proper girls. The next April the plane
bucked me like a horse, my elevators turned
and fear blew down my throat, that last profane
gauge of a stomach coming up. And then returned
to land, as unlovely as any seasick sailor,
sincerely eighteen; my first story, my funny failure.
Maybe Rose, there is always another story,
better unsaid, grim or flat or predatory.
Half a mile down the lights of the in-between cities
turn up their eyes at me. And I remember Betsy’s
story, the April night of the civilian air crash
and her sudden name misspelled in the evening paper,
the interior of shock and the paper gone in the trash
ten years now. She used the return ticket I gave her.
This was the rude kill of her; two planes cracking
in mid-air over Washington, like blind birds.
And the picking up afterwards, the morticians tracking
bodies in the Potomac and piecing them like boards
to make a leg or a face. There is only her miniature
photograph left, too long now for fear to remember.
Special tonight because I made her into a story
that I grew to know and savor.
A reason to worry,
Rose, when you fix an old death like that,
and outliving the impact, to find you’ve pretended.
We bank over Boston. I am safe. I put on my hat.
I am almost someone going home. The story has ended.
by Anne Sexton
10. Just Before April Came
THE SNOW piles in dark places are gone.
Pools by the railroad tracks shine clear.
The gravel of all shallow places shines.
A white pigeon reels and somersaults.
Frogs plutter and squdge—and frogs beat the air with a recurring thin steel sliver of melody.
Crows go in fives and tens; they march their black feathers past a blue pool; they celebrate an old festival.
A spider is trying his webs, a pink bug sits on my hand washing his forelegs.
I might ask: Who are these people?
by Carl Sandburg
11. April’s Charms
When April scatters charms of primrose gold
Among the copper leaves in thickets old,
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise,
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
When I can hear the small woodpecker ring
Time on a tree for all the birds that sing;
And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long —
The simple bird that thinks two notes a song;
When I can hear the woodland brook, that could
Not drown a babe, with all his threatening mood;
Upon these banks the violets make their home,
And let a few small strawberry vlossoms come:
When I go forth on such a pleasant day,
One breath outdoors takes all my cares away;
It goes like heavy smoke, when flames take hold
Of wood that’s green and fill a grate with gold.
by William Henry Davies
Poetry For April
12. April Rise
If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now in this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.
Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world
Sweats with the bead of summer in its bud.
If ever I heard blessing it is there
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air.
Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates,
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones,
While white as water by the lake a girl
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans.
Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick,
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass;
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance,
If ever world were blessed, now it is.
by Laurie Lee
13. So sweet love seemed that April morn
So sweet love seemed that April morn,
When first we kissed beside the thorn,
So strangely sweet, it was not strange
We thought that love could never change.
But I can tell–let truth be told–
That love will change in growing old;
Though day by day is naught to see,
So delicate his motions be.
And in the end ’twill come to pass
Quite to forget what once he was,
Nor even in fancy to recall
The pleasure that was all in all.
His little spring, that sweet we found,
So deep in summer floods is drowned,
I wonder, bathed in joy complete,
How love so young could be so sweet.
by Robert Seymour Bridges
14. My April Lady
When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.
When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.
My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.
by Henry Van Dyke
15. Absent Place — an April Day —
Absent Place — an April Day —
To the Souls that snow —
Drift may block within it
Deeper than without —
Daffodil delight but
Him it duplicate —
by Emily Dickinson
16. April Is The Saddest Month
There they were
dog and bitch
halving the compass
Then when with his yip
oh how frolicsome
she grew before him
through the shrubbery
by William Carlos Williams
17. April Violet
A new bloom
frilly and pink
between the rich and green
grafted and grown by your hands
warmed in the sun
given to me
gone but remembered
preserved in resin,
by Raymond A. Foss
18. An April Day
When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
‘T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth’s loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter’s cold,
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o’er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.
Inverted in the tide
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life’s golden fruit is shed.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
19. An April Night
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.
by Lucy Maud Montgomery
April has a lot of fun elements to it– the newness of a new season, the ever changing weather conditions, the beginning of the month being so goofy and playful… And an appreciation for poetry! It’s just a fun month overall and what better way to enjoy it than with some poetry that really highlights everything that April has to offer.
Poetry can really change your mindset and take you somewhere else mentally if you let it, as can any form of art and writing. If you read our January poems, it probably put you in a really cozy mood, while these are going to have you ready to frolic through springtime meadows or sit inside with a book and candle while the April storms rage on.
Whatever kind of April you’re experiencing currently, these poems are going to match your mood and enjoy the month with you. Poetry is one of those art forms that feels like a friend and matches your mood or shifts your mood. Whatever vibe you’re in the mood for, a poem or two can shift it.
Dive into these, and while you’re at it, check out these poems about light for a lighter and brighter vibe.