THE BREATH OF SPRING.
THE breath of spring is in the air,
And in the damp morasses;
The earth already groweth fair
With hints of coming grasses.
The bluebird warbles in the tree,
With now and then a robin;
And with the coming life to be,
All nature's heart is throbbing.
The brooklets tinkle in the glade,
And silver-thread the meadow,
Or steal along, as half afraid,
They glide beneath the shadow.
The timid crocus lifts its head,
Above the dark leaves peering;
The tiny violet from its bed
Looks up, as nothing fearing.
The ice has melted from the streams,
The snow from off the hedges;
In silver flecks the sunlight gleams
Along the forest edges;
And with a sigh of spring-like breeze,
A sweet, delicious sobbing,
The voice of bird and air and trees,
All nature's heart is throbbing.
—Good Words.