Florence Earle Coates

A Descant

When Spring comes tripping o'er the lea
    And grasses start to meet her,
        The bluebird sings
        With quivering wings
    Brief rhapsodies to greet her,
And deems—fond minstrel!—none may be,
The wide world over, blithe as he.

And where the brooklet tinkles by,
    And the faery snowdrop dances,
        And windflowers frail
        And bloodroots pale
    Lift up appealing glances,
The flute-voiced meadow-lark on high
Sings, "None on earth is glad as I!"

Laughs Corydon, "Your hearts are bold,
    Yet little ye can measure,
        Poor, silly birds,
        Spring's sweetest words,
    Or guess at my proud pleasure,
When Phyllis comes, and all the wold,
For sudden joy, buds into gold!"