The Birds And I
A THOUSAND voices whisper it is spring;
Shy flowers start up to greet me on the way,
And homing birds preen their swift wings and sing
The praises of the friendly, lengthening day.
The buds whose breath the glad wind hither bears,
Whose tender secret the young May shall find,
Seem all for me—for me the softer airs,
The gentle warmth, wherewith the day is kind.
Let me rejoice, now skies are blue and bright,
And the round world pays tribute to the spring;
The birds and I will carol our delight,
And every breeze Love's messages shall bring.
What matter though sometimes the cup of tears
We drink, instead of the rich wine of mirth?
There are as many springs as there are years;
And, glad or sad, we love this dear old Earth.
Shall we come back, like birds, from some far sphere—
We and the Spring together—and be glad
With the old joy to hail the sweet young year,
And to remember what good days we had?
Shy flowers start up to greet me on the way,
And homing birds preen their swift wings and sing
The praises of the friendly, lengthening day.
The buds whose breath the glad wind hither bears,
Whose tender secret the young May shall find,
Seem all for me—for me the softer airs,
The gentle warmth, wherewith the day is kind.
Let me rejoice, now skies are blue and bright,
And the round world pays tribute to the spring;
The birds and I will carol our delight,
And every breeze Love's messages shall bring.
What matter though sometimes the cup of tears
We drink, instead of the rich wine of mirth?
There are as many springs as there are years;
And, glad or sad, we love this dear old Earth.
Shall we come back, like birds, from some far sphere—
We and the Spring together—and be glad
With the old joy to hail the sweet young year,
And to remember what good days we had?
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