Away from the summer, and out of the South
The bird had followed a whisper true,
As out from the brown and desolate sod
Stepped the shy little blossom, with eyes of blue.
And he sang to her, in the young spring day,
Of all the joy in the world astir;
And her beauty and fragrance answered him,
While the spring and he bent over her.
—Louise Chandler Moulton.