Classic Poem

Spring, with all her splendor,
With all her merry train,
Her birds, her flowers, her sunshine,
Has returned to us again.

On lowly, sloping valleys
The plowman turns the sod;
Th' dogwood, white with blossoms, gleams
Beside the golden-rod.

Th' sheep and cattle, peaceful,
On hill-side pastures stray,
Where spring the dandelions.
And buttercups so gay.

Th' martins, back from Southland
Have nested near the door;
The song of happy bluebirds
Now rings the forest o'er.