So, Loveling, come ! we'll wander through

Your native fields together,
And I will make my song of you

All out of April weather;
Upon a time when God's great plans

Were in his looms above us,



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And all His angel-artisans,

Who cherish us and love us,
Shot shining shuttles in and out

To fashion April weather,
The little angels sat about

And sang and played together.
Oh, you shall hear the game they played.
So innocent and jolly;
They took the weavers' shreds and made

A little angel dolly!
Of blended blossoms pink and white.
The little angels made it.
With every essence of delight

Endowed it and arrayed it;
With soft blue bits of April skies

And sunlight's golden flashes
They wrought the beauty of its eyes

And of its hair and lashes.
No shred the April weavers left

But those small angels caught it,
Inwove it in their mimic weft

And fashioned it and wrought it.
Then God, who watched their labour, smiled



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And took it and caressed it,
And lo! it was a living child,

For with His breath He blessed it.
So when the weavers' work was done,

All in the bright spring weather.
Sweet April and the little one

Came down to earth together.
And straight to our own home she flew

And gave you to your mother!
Ay! sweet, the little child was you.
Just Nancy and no other.
O! who may sing

A sweeter thing
Than this that April taught me.
