THE FIRST BIRD O’ SPRING

By Henry Van Dyke

Winter on Mount Shasta,

April down below;

Golden hours of glowing sun

Sudden showers of snow!

Under leafless thickets

Early wild-flowers cling;

But, oh, my dear, I'm fain to hear

The first bird o’ Spring!

Alders are in tassel,

Maples are in bud;

Waters of the blue McCloud

Shout in joyful flood;

Through the giant pine-trees

Flutters many a wing;

But, oh, my dear, I long to hear

The first bird o’ Spring!

Candle-light and fire-light

Mingle at “the Bend”;

‘ Neath the roof of Bo-hai-pan

Light and shadow blend.

Sweeter than a wood-thrush

A maid begins to sing;

And, oh, my dear, I'm glad to hear

The first bird o’ Spring!