When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower.
(-Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales)
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
(-T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland)
*Photograph by Toni Frissell, 1947.