I cant tell you, but you feel it

I cant tell you - but you feel it -
Nor can you tell me -
Saints, with ravished slate and pencil
Solve our April Day!

Sweeter than a vanished frolic
From a vanished green!
Swifter than the hoofs of Horsemen
Round a Ledge of dream!

Modest, let us walk among it
With our faces vailed -
As they say polite Archangels
Do in meeting God!

Not for me - to prate about it!
Not for you - to say
To some fashionable Lady
"Charming April Day"!

Rather - Heaven's "Peter Parley"!
By which children slow
To sublimer Recitation
Are prepared to go!