A Song of Spring

Leaves on the trees,
And buds in the breeze,
And tall grass waving on the meadows' side,
And a showerlet sweet,
While the soft clouds meet
Again in their golden robes when day has died.

The scholar his pen
Hath mended again,
For the new life runs in his wearied veins;
While the wild child flies
Mid the flowers' fresh dyes,
And the happy bird gushes with sudden strains.
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