OCR Text |
Show -H OiAm. Ho, tho vlco of aprini i In culling J Where tho dreary floMn arc Bloeplnit, ' And a whlspor, Boftly nlllnjr, Sota tho burled liro to ert'vplng; It Is callinir: "Wnkon! Wnlient" Tilt tho bnrrcn twigs ato shnken And tho buds that cltnj$ In droWBlnjr Swell with leaves that tHey nro IioiihIuk. And tho volco of nprlnKthna forces Alt tho snp until It ruslies Through tho hidden way and courses That It left in wintry hushes; And tho call speeds on and pnsse? All the roots of all tho brasses With Its word of wnrm fig Hhowcru Kor tho world of Bleep iig flowers. And the dream-held be-1 will chucklo In tholr sleep, and scon tho bunting Of tho roso and honeys cklo With tho noctar for th Ir thirsting. ThroiiKh the orchard g ' thrilling Of tho bloBsomB meant or Bpllllni; To tho breezes In thuJ plnylng With the ahlno and b (low straying. Ho, tho voice of spring Is npecrtlng Out ncross tho IiIIIh nnd hollows And tuned to Its Joyous lending la a sonp thnt swiftly follown Till the blrdH nfnr havo heard It, On tho winds that have not burred It. And their wIurs are thrummlwr. thrum- mlnB, Kor they'ro coniluK, cojnlng-, comlnB. Bud and hlosHom, hough and berry, Sky and soil, and man and maiden Sense tho calllnp, sweet and morry. With Its olden promise Ifulon And wo rise with hearts enraptured Of tho sonR that wn hnvo captured, Of tho bouk that lilts with huiBhter, Of tho days that shall coma after. |