WAKE, robin; wake, and blithely sing,

For tidings glad to thee I bring,

That spring is coming, watching spring!

Clear must be the strain to greet her!

Pure should be the heart to meet her!

Where fairy footsteps tread the glade,.

Gay blossoms in their path are laid,

For spring is coming, watching spring! .

Sweetly will the violets greet her—

Brightly cowslips spring to meet her.

All tiny insect voices raise

Their portion of the song of praise

To welcome spring, the watching spring!

Glad are they at last to greet her,

On dainty wing they come to meet her.

A thousand colors paint the hill—

Fierce, angry wind, at once be still!

Thou canst not check the watching spring;

Nature's hosts have come to greet her,

All with welcome glad to meet her.

Elizabeth Taylor