Classic Poem

(1)

Now the time has come to sing
In the service of the Spring,
I will lift a note, and call
Bird and beast to madrigal.

But o'er vale and mountain-shelf,
In the wood, the plain, the glade,
Spring is singing for herself,
Singing without any aid!

You can do without my aid!
So I need not sing for you!
Singing is my only trade!
What the deuce am I to do!

(2)

Among the leaves I'll make a rhyme,
To the winter in its pall,
For the poor forgotten time
Has not had a song at all.

Winter! Winter! Do not fear!
You shall wear an icy crown
At the falling of the year
When the leaves are tumbled down!

I am singing to you here,
Where the buds breaks on the tree!
At the falling of the year
You shall sing a song to me!