April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago
Is full of whispers, full of sighs
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies
Are here again, and butterflies

Are here again, and butterflies
Only you are gone
You that alone I cared to keep

There rings a hammering all day
And shingles lie about the doors
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores
The men are merry at their chores
And children earnest at their play
Are here again, and butterflies

Are here again, and butterflies
Only you are gone
You that alone I cared to keep

The larger streams run still and deep
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun

The larger streams run still and deep
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun
Pensively, only you are gone
You that alone I cared to keep

Only you are gone
You that alone I cared to keep

Only you are gone
You that alone I cared to keep
