Through the consoling April sun
the breeze, so very unconsoling,
a sandy whirlwind on the road -
shutting up the chattering starling.

Up above the northern latitudes,
dark grey clouds are bulking high.
Bowler hats get pulled down tight -
but these two dandies let theirs fly.

And under the noise of the rumbling hail,
the proud and wicked heart revives:
'That's our very own lightning-crack,
the wingbeat as our spring arrives!'

21 April 1937, Paris