April Vespers

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Title:     April Vespers
Author: Eugene Field [More Titles by Field]

The turtles drum in the pulseless bay,
    The crickets creak in the prickful hedge,
    The bull-frogs boom in the puddling sedge
  And the whoopoe whoops its vesper lay
                        Away
  In the twilight soft and gray.
  Two lovers stroll in the glinting gloam--
    His hand in her'n and her'n in his--
    She blushes deep--he is talking biz--
  They hug and hop as they listless roam--
                        They roam--
  It's late when they get back home.
  Down by the little wicket-gate,
    Down where the creepful ivy grows,
    Down where the sweet nasturtium blows,
  A box-toed parent lies in wait--
                        In wait
  For the maiden and her mate.
  Let crickets creak and bull-frogs boom,
    The whoopoe wail in the distant dell--
    Their tuneful throbs will ne'er dispel
  The planted pain and the rooted gloom--
                        The gloom
  Of the lover's dismal doom.

[The end]
Eugene Field's poem: April Vespers

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