If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a read more

If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud
In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring."

Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
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Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea.

I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountain with light and song:
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I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountain with light and song:
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves, opening as I pass.

For happiness one needs security, but joy can spring like a flower even from the cliffs of despair.

For happiness one needs security, but joy can spring like a flower even from the cliffs of despair.

Starred forget-me-nots smile sweetly,
Ring, bluebells, ring!
Winning eye and heart completely,
Sing, robin, read more

Starred forget-me-nots smile sweetly,
Ring, bluebells, ring!
Winning eye and heart completely,
Sing, robin, sing!
All among the reeds and rushes,
Where the brook its music hushes,
Bright the caloposon blushes,__
Laugh, O murmuring Spring!

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent read more

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness.

Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year.
. . read more

Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year.
. . . .
The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow.

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

Spring makes its own statement, so loud and clear that the gardener seems to be only one of the instruments, read more

Spring makes its own statement, so loud and clear that the gardener seems to be only one of the instruments, not the composer.