A SONG OF SPRING

Little laughter of the grass;

Clapping of soft, tiny hands;

Fleeting forms that come and pass

In relays of fairy bands;

And the birds upon the wing —

Tell the secret! It is Spring!

In the woods the dryades

Hear the sounding pipes of Pan,

Leave their temples of the trees

And return to haunts of man;

This the song they sweetly sing —

Ave! Ave! It is Spring!

Domed with sapphire is the sky;

Haze of opal hath the hills;

Brown the brooks that rushing by

Call to their companion rills;

These their joyous welcome bring —

Hail! All hail! For it is Spring!