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!
...

When the mist drives past and the wind blows high,
And the harbour lights are dim--
See where they circle, and dip and fly,
...

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;
...