Memory, you have the key. 
Indeed. 
CR 

On Sunday, April 10, 2016, Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
"April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain."

("He who was living is now dead") 

And vis-a-vis "spring rain" the memory and desire of another April: 

"WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote 
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth       
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, 
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye,        
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages: 
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmers for to seken straunge strondes, 
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende        
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke."

Well a thought that has prefigured many a time vis-a-vis the opening lines of 'The Waste Land.'

CR