The brooks have burst their fetters hoar,
And greet with noisy glee the glade;
Spring knocks at winter's frosty door.
The swallow soon will northward soar,
The rush uplift its gleaming blade,
The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.
Soon sunny skies their gold will pour
O'er meads that breezy maples shade;
Spring knocks at winter's frosty door.
Along the reedy river's shore,
Fleet fauns will frolic unafraid,
The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.
And Love, the Love we lost of yore,
Will come to twine the myrtle braid;
Spring knocks at winter's frosty door,
The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.
Clinton Scollard.
DOT.
O, had I but a fairy yacht,
I know quite well what I would do—
I soon would sail away with Dot!
I'd quickly weave a cunning plot,
Had I but fairies for my crew—
O, had I but a fairy yacht!