Spring once more is here—
Joyous, sweet, and clear—
Singing down the leafless aisles
To the budding year.
Her chanting is the thrush
Through the twilight hush,
And the silver tongues of waters
Where the willows blush;
Stir of lifting heads
Over violet beds;
Piping of the first glad robin
Through the greens and reds;
Croak of sullen crows
When the south wind blows,
Sighing in the shaggy spruces
Wet with melted snows;
Whisper of the rain
Down the hills again,
And the heavy feet of waters
Tramping on the plain.
Now the Goddess Spring
Makes the woodlands ring,
Bringing with a hundred voices
Joy to everything.