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,