O the sweet spring days when the grasses grow.
And the violets blow,
And the lads and the lassies a-maying go!
When the mosses cling in their velvet sheen,
Like a fringe of green,
To the rocks that o’er the deep pools lean;
When the brooks wake up with a merry leap
From their winter sleep,
And the frogs in the meadows begin to peep;
When the robin sings, thro’ the long bright hours,
Of his southern bowers,
With a dream in his heart of the coming flowers;
When the earth is full of delicious smells
From the ferny dells,
And the scent of the breeze quite plainly tells
He has been with the apple-blooms! They fly
From his kisses sly
Like feathery snow-flakes scurrying by!
O the saucy pranks of the madcap breeze
In the blossoming trees!
O the sounds that thrill, and the sights that please,
And the nameless joys that the May days bring
On their glad, glad wing!
O the dear delights of the sweet, sweet spring!