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The White Bees
Contents:
My April Lady
When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.
When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.
My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.
Contents:
Chicago:
Henry Van Dyke, "My April Lady," The White Bees, ed. Keil, Heinrich, 1822-1894 and trans. Seaton, R. C. in The White Bees (New York: George E. Wood, 1850), Original Sources, accessed July 3, 2025, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=U7WNJ62X25QZSPL.
MLA:
Dyke, Henry Van. "My April Lady." The White Bees, edited by Keil, Heinrich, 1822-1894, and translated by Seaton, R. C., in The White Bees, New York, George E. Wood, 1850, Original Sources. 3 Jul. 2025. http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=U7WNJ62X25QZSPL.
Harvard:
Dyke, HV, 'My April Lady' in The White Bees, ed. and trans. . cited in 1850, The White Bees, George E. Wood, New York. Original Sources, retrieved 3 July 2025, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=U7WNJ62X25QZSPL.
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