Once more Spring’s dear, remembered thrill
The winter’s heart went through―
Out came the willow silverly
And white the shad-bush blew.
A voice went thro’ the emerald land
And “Wake, wake, Robin,” cried;
A brook burst out in laughter sweet,
And straight the winter sighed.
The gay wild-currant saucily
Came stepping out in red―
A dear, delicious light-o’-love,
With blushes overspread.
A little meadow that I know
Ran suddenly to gold,
Till every lifted buttercup
Had more than it could hold.
The yellow finches perched and sang
Their few notes sweet and loud,
Or drifted up against the blue―
A bright, melodious cloud.
But oh, but oh, the meadow-lark!
And oh, the song he sang!
All rapture, passion, tenderness
Ached thro’ me while it rang.
And as I listening bowed my head
To hide the springing tear,
Lo, all about me―violets!
And Spring herself was here.
“The Coming of Spring” as it appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).