Virna Sheard Poems

When April comes with softly shining eyes,
And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair,
Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies,
...

April again! the willow wands are yellow
Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows,
Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello,
And across the valley, the calling of the crows,-
'April again!'
...

April! April! April!
With a mist of green on the trees--
And a scent of the warm brown broken earth
On every wandering breeze;
...

'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow,
To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
...

Windy March weather, with a lone crow flying,
A little ebony airship careening down the blue,
And high, high above him a wild goose crying,
The leading cry, the clarion cry, that guides his grey lines through!
...

Throughout the sunny day he whistled on his way--
Oh high and low, and gay and sweet,
The melody rang down the street,
...

I love red poppies! Imperial red poppies!
Sun-worshippers are they;
Gladly as trees live through a hundred summers
They live one little day.
...

Hark! Hark to the wind! 'Tis the night, they say,
When all souls come back from the far away--
The dead, forgotten this many a day!
...

ON this little pool where the sunbeams lie,
This tawny gold ring where the shadows die,
God doth enamel the blue of His sky.
...

Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;--
(Shadow-man is comin' from de moon!)--
You's as sweet as roses if dey is so pink an white;
...