Virna Sheard

April with its haunting joy and swift-stinging tears. The month of mist and music and the old moon-madness. The month of magic fluting, the spirit only hears.

Leonora Speyer

April now walks the fields again, trailing her tearful leaves and holding all her frightened buds against her heart. Wrapt in her clouds and mists, she walks, groping her way among the graves of men.