O BREATH of the wakening year,

And waters cold and clear!

Mists from the banks of the lake arise

To join the clouds in the dim, gray skies;

Streams rush down from the mountainside

To swell the flood of the river wide;

And over the hilltops high and grand.

Hastens a breeze from the southern land.

O songs of birds in the air,

And sunshine everywhere!

High on the maple above my head

The bluebird perches where buds are red,

And utters softly his clear, low call.

The gray clouds open, and over all

The marvelous glow of the sunshine breaks—

The robin comes, and the earth awakes!

O forest no longer dumb,

The glorious days have come!

Afar in the woods the wild vines creep

Over the mosses, and cold brooks leap

Among the rocks in the wild ravine.

Gaily the trees put on their green,

And in the branches the blithe birds sing

Till the dim retreats of the forest ring!




Henry R. Dorr.