Classic Poem

THE young queen is coming,
With piping and drumming,
Is coming this way in her kingdom again;
With laughter and singing,
And fairy bells ringing,
And all the gay courtiers that follow her train.

The lowlands and highlands,
The sea-coasts and islands
Are donning their jewels and mantles of green;
And bright waters meeting,
Advancing, retreating,
Are gladly repeating, " All hail to the queen! "

The blue sky is smiling,
The warm sun beguiling
The spirit of life from the chambers of gloom;
And timid young flowers,
In hedges and bowers,
Respond to his kisses with fragrance and bloom.

Wee, brown buds peep over
Their winter-time cover,
To find themselves wrapt in a soft, golden sheen,
And tenderly flushing,
Unfolding and blushing,
Lay all their sweet wealth at the feet of the queen.

Bright cloudlets are sailing,
Like fairy boats trailing
White banners, afar, over woodland and wold;
While sunshine and shadow,
On hillside and meadow,
Are making mosaics, in purple and gold.

Sweet south winds are straying,
Like children a-Maying,
Where wild reeds and rushes and waving their plumes,
And gleaning from edges
Of streamlets and sedges,
From thickets and ledges, a thousand perfumes.

The ring-dove is cooing,
The red robin wooing,
Or building his nest with a business-like mein;
Araignee beginning,
Her summer-long spinning,
And myriads of voices proclaiming the queen.