To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST MAN: A CROCODILE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ASOLANDO: SUMMUM BONUM by ROBERT BROWNING FALSE POETS AND TRUE; TO WORDSWORTH by THOMAS HOOD AMORETTI: 37 by EDMUND SPENSER CASEY AT THE BAT (1) by ERNEST LAWRENCE THAYER THEY CALL IT BUSINESS by CHARLES G. ADAMS AGAMEMNON: THE BEACONS by AESCHYLUS THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): JASON'S SOWING AND REAPING by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |