The meadow brooks are full, and busy 

Getting winter oft to sea; 

His trunks of ice, all packed and ready, 

Are standing under every tree.

His overcoats, well aired and shaken, 

Are dangling from each dripping bough;

For he has stayed till overtaken, 

And spring is right upon him now!

Yes, hurry up, old winter, hurry!

Sometime, we hope, you'll come again; 

But here is spring, in such a flurry,

Keeping back her stores of rain!

Yes, good-by, good-by, old fellow!

With your coasting, skating, fun; 

Bring some more by next December,

When the summer days are gone.

What's the matter, pretty springtime?

Always weeping? Some would say 

You are vexed, because old winter

Always lingers in your way.

Well, he's off! The brooks have started!

 Now the birds can come and sing.

So welcome to the happy-hearted, 

Laughing, budding, genial spring!

Mrs. S. C. Stone.