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Now melts the snow
In the warm sun.
The meadows flow,
The streamlets run.
The spring is born,
The wild bees bum,
The insects hum,
And trees drop gum.
And winter's gone,
And summer's come.
The chic-a-dee
Lisps in the tree,
The winter bee
Not fearing frost;
The small nuthatch
The bark doth scratch
Some worm to catch
At any cost.
The catkins green
Cast o'er the scene
A summer sheen,
A genial glow.
I melt, I flow,
And rippling run,
Like melting snow
In this warm sun.
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