So long as there is April
My heart is high,
Lifting up its white dreams
To the sky.

As trees hold up their blossoms
In a blowing cloud,
My hands are reaching,
My hands are proud.

All the crumbled splendours
Of autumn, and the cries
Of winds that I remember
Cannot make me wise.

Like the trees of April
Fearless and fair—
My heart swings its censers
Through the golden air.