When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
O, then comes the Blue-bird, the herald of spring!
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.
“Then loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring;
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the weather;
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring,
And spicewood and sassafras budding together;
O, then, to your gardens ye housewives repair,
Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure;
The Blue-bird will chant from his box, such an air,