IV

As the sunshine quenches the snowshine; as April subdues thee, and
yields up his kingdom to May;
So time overcomes the regret that is born of delight as it passes
in passion away,
And leaves but a dream for desire to rejoice in or mourn for with
tears or thanksgivings; but thou,
Bright god that art gone from us, maddest and gladdest of months,
to what goal hast thou gone from us now?
For somewhere surely the storm of thy laughter that lightens, the
beat of thy wings that play,
Must flame as a fire through the world, and the heavens that we
know not rejoice in thee: surely thy brow
Hath lost not its radiance of empire, thy spirit the joy that
impelled it on quest as for prey.