Her lyric laughter ripples down the street;
The echoing tread of feet
Goes surging by the door
As in the countless April tides of yore;
A tender touch of green
Amid the parks is seen,
And down the bay
The blue-gold flag of day
Has been unfurled across a height of sky;
A breeze drifts by …
Bringing a hint of dancing daffodils
And some quaint garden where the sunlight spills
Its mellow loveliness; the tired streets sing
Beneath the magic of another spring;
And yet how much, how more than much they miss
Who know no other April day than this
Deep in the heart of town!
Theirs is no wonder of green sprung from brown,
Music of melting snows
Or song of wind that blows
Across far hills where blue-eyed violets wake;
They see no pine grove bordering a lake;
The tragedy is theirs who never trod
Paths made by God;
An artifice of spring is all they know
Here in the city's endless ebb and flow.