Poemsby Emily Dickinson

April

 An altered look about the hills; A Tyrian light the village fills; A wider sunrise in the dawn; A deeper twilight on the lawn; A print of a vermilion foot; A purple finger on the slope; A flippant fly upon the pane; A spider at his trade again; An added strut in chanticleer; A flower expected everywhere; An axe shrill singing in the woods; Fern-odors on untravelled roads, - All this, and more I cannot tell, A furtive look you know as well, And Nicodemus' mystery Receives its annual reply.