Classic Poem

Thro' the vine-embowered portal blows
The fragrant breath of summer-time;
Far, the river, brightly winding, goes
With murmurs falling into rhyme.

It is spring in Tulwa Thlocco now;
The fresher hue of grass and tree
All but hides upon the mountain's brow
The green haunts of the chickadee.

There are drifts of plum blooms, snowy white,
Along the lane and greening hedge;
And the dogwood blossoms cast a light
Upon the forest's dusky edge.

Crocus, earliest flower of the year,
Hangs out its starry petals where
The spring beauties in their hiding peer,
And red-buds crimson all the air.

Thro' the vine-embowered portal blows
The fragrant breath of summer-time;
Far, the river, brightly winding, goes
With murmurs falling into rhyme.

It is spring in Tulwa Thlocco now;
The fresher hue of grass and tree
All but hides upon the mountain's brow
The green haunts of the chickadee.

There are drifts of plum blooms, snowy white,
Along the lane and greening hedge;
And the dogwood blossoms cast a light
Upon the forest's dusky edge.

Crocus, earliest flower of the year,
Hangs out its starry petals where
The spring beauties in their hiding peer,
And red-buds crimson all the air.