The month for me is April!
Where the old landscape falls,
where the new saps from its root.
A bit of tumult’s heard to squall,
though best is hardly peace afoot,
but the waking of earth’s will!
The month for me is April,
because it storms and drips and sweeps,
because it melts and smiles and grows,
because it spring’s secret keeps,
because its power overthrows,
from it blooms summer still.
—Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832–1910):
Norwegian poet, playwright, and
Nobel Prize in Literature Laureate in 1903