Classic Poem

Who is it that drums on the window for me,
The green boughs restlessly swaying?
Young Morning-Wind is here — 'tis he:
His merry pranks he's playing.

" Come out! thou son of man, come out!"
The saucy fellow is bawling —
" Spring-joys, tumultuously, about
Thy chamber-threshold are calling.

" Hearest thou not the chafer's hum,
Hear'st not the window-pane snapping,
As, drunk with fragrance and light, they come
Against the glass hard flapping?

" The sunbeams, through the twinkling vine,
Are nimbly stealing to find thee;
Around thy head they shoot and shine,
And blaze as if they would blind thee.

" The nightingale's almost hoarse, poor thing!
So long has she been singing;
And 'cause thou wouldst not hear her sing,
Down from the tree she went springing.

" So I took her bough and I swung it about,
And I lashed the casement, saying:
Come out to the kingdom of Spring, come out!
He will not much longer be staying!"