Classic Poem

Now the delicious air
Persuades the lovely trees
To loose their golden hair
From old embroideries
And make an airy screen
Of gold that turns to green.

Delightful it is now
To see the crooked bough,
The crooked bough that dapples
The ground beneath the apples,
Look pink and fresh: as brave
As many a straighter stave
Or willow that, by sleight,
Makes drooping a delight.
Cherries in bloom spring up
As high as the house top.
And all the air is filled
With sprays suddenly stilled;
A soft, green, maple rain
Has paved the little lane,
The lane beside the rill
That runs down to the mill;
And every little gully
Gushes, replenished fully;
And in the fields beyond
The ducks upon the pond
Are dipping, scooting, ducking;
Foals, calves and lambs are sucking,
(A thing I would not mention
But for pastoral convention)
And Peggy's out, not caring
To ask how Dick is faring:
The Miller, where no breeze is
(It's dust or sinus) sneezes;
And men in sleeveless shirts
Are plying little squirts,
Or making rainbow mists
With a kind of hose that twists;
And all the world's agog
Like a seedsman's catalogue:
I know that Spring has come;
But not how, or wherefrom.
I would have been a fool
Had I not gone to school
To find out what brings on
This blithe phenomenon.
The teacher said, The sap
Is, once a year, on tap;
And, also, that we roll
Each day around the Pole;
And that these brave things come
Because it's out of plomb.