Plunge in the yard-pond brimming o’er.
The sun peeps through the window pane;
Which children mark with laughing eye:
And in the wet street steal again,
To tell each other Spring is nigh:
Then, as young Hope the past recalls,
In playing groups they often draw,
To build beside the sunny walls
Their spring-time huts of sticks and straw.
And oft in pleasure’s dreams they hie