SPRINGTIME
THE willows glow gold in the sunlight,
The robins, a-wing,
Spill out on the crystalline ether
The lyric of spring.
There's a dream in the wind as it passes,
A spell in the haze,
The robins, a-wing,
Spill out on the crystalline ether
The lyric of spring.
There's a dream in the wind as it passes,
A spell in the haze,
For the year has come back to the season
Of do-nothing days.
The grass is shot white with sweet clover
Like foam of green seas,
Where glean the freebooters of pillage—
The vagabond bees.
Of do-nothing days.
The grass is shot white with sweet clover
Like foam of green seas,
Where glean the freebooters of pillage—
The vagabond bees.
There's a beckon for me in the shadows
That ripple the plain,
A lure in the hide-and-seek sunshine,
A call in the rain.
And in fancy I'm out on the hilltops,
All care left behind,
That ripple the plain,
A lure in the hide-and-seek sunshine,
A call in the rain.
And in fancy I'm out on the hilltops,
All care left behind,
Answering the dare that is wafted
From gypsying wind;
Or, prone on my back in the clover
Of meadow-sweet ways
I lie—just a loafer and dreamer
These do-nothing days.
From gypsying wind;
Or, prone on my back in the clover
Of meadow-sweet ways
I lie—just a loafer and dreamer
These do-nothing days.
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