April comes back looking and sounding much like last year—the hepaticas, the butterflies, the muddy snow, the hammering and woodpecker tapping. The everyday world goes on cheerfully: men work, children play, sheep climb the hillside in the sun. But the speaker’s attention keeps circling around one absence. The repeated signs of spring once shared with someone loved now feel hollow. The title hints that this is the second April after a loss, and the final lines land quietly: “only you are gone, / You that alone I cared to keep.” The poem creates a wistful, subdued mood, where nature’s renewal makes personal loss sharper rather than softer. The speaker does not rage or weep openly; instead, there is a gentle ache in noticing that everything returns except the one person who mattered.
Song of a Second April — Summary
April this year, not otherwise Than April of a year ago, Is full of whispers, full of sighs, Of dazzling mud and dingy snow; Hepaticas that pleased you so Are here again, and butterflies. There rings a hammering all day, And shingles lie about the doors; In orchards near and far away The grey wood-pecker taps and bores; The men are merry at their chores, And children earnest at their play. The larger streams run still and deep, Noisy and swift the small brooks run Among the mullein stalks the sheep Go up the hillside in the sun, Pensively,--only you are gone, You that alone I cared to keep.