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Poem by Bliss Carman
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Now is the time of year When all the flutes begin,Ч The redwing bold and clear, The rainbird far and thin. In all the waking lands There's not a wilding thing But knows and understands The burden of the spring. Now every voice alive By rocky wood and stream Is lifted to revive The ecstasy, the dream. For Nature, never old, But busy as of yore, From sun and rain and mould Is making spring once more. She sounds her magic note By river-marge and hill, And every woodland throat Re-echoes with a thrill. O mother of our days, Hearing thy music call. Teach us to know thy ways And fear no more at all!
Bliss Carman's other poems:
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