Spring once more is here--
Joyous, sweet, and clear--
Singing down the leafless aisles
To the budding year.

Her chanting is the thrush
Through the twilight hush,
And the silver tongues of waters
Where the willows blush;

Stir of lifting heads
Over violet beds;
Piping of the first glad robin
Through the greens and reds;

Croak of sullen crows
When the south wind blows,
Sighing in the shaggy spruces
Wet with melted snows;

Whisper of the rain
Down the hills again,
And the heavy feet of waters
Tramping on the plain.

Now the Goddess Spring
Makes the woodlands ring,
Bringing with a hundred voices
Joy to everything.