Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson


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April for me I choose!
In it the old things tumble,
In it things new refresh us;
It makes a mighty rumble,--
But peace is not so precious
As that his will man shows.

April for me I choose,
Because it storms and scourges,
Because it smiles and blesses,
Because its power purges,
Because it strength possesses,--
In it the summer grows.

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