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A poem by Eugene Field

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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