Spring

I walk and

To hear the birds sing,

Without you my

How can there be Spring?

I see the pink

That slept for a year;

But who could have woke them,

While you were not near?

Birds sing to the blossoms;

Blind, dreaming your pink,

These blush to the songsters,

Your music they think.

So well had you taught them,

To look and to sing;

Your bloom and your music;

The ways of the Spring.