Spring in the South

Now in the oak the sap of life is welling,Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings;Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling;Every little pine-wood grows alive with wings;Blue-jays are fluttering, yodeling and crying,Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass,Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,--Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass?

Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing,Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn;Red are the hillsides of the early ploughing,Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn.Earth seems asleep, but she is only feigning;Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest;Look where the jasmine lavishly is rainingJove's golden shower into Danaee's breast!

Now on the plum-tree a snowy bloom is sifted,Now on the peach-tree, the glory of the rose,Far o'er the hills a tender haze is drifted,Full to the brim the yellow river flows.Dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten,Greener than emeralds shining in the sun.Whence comes the magic? Listen, sweetheart, listen!The mocking-bird is singing: Spring is begun.

Hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving!All of his heart he pours into his lay,--"Love, love, love, and pure delight of living:Winter is forgotten: here's a happy day!"Fair in your face I read the flowery presage,Snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouth:Sweet in your voice I hear the season's message,--Love, love, love, and Spring in the South!