They're coming! And it seems so long
Since sadly autumn laid them low.
They left us with the robin's song,
They left us to the ice and snow.
They're coming! So the March wind saith.
Though singing songs with icy breath,
He's chanting of another May,
He's chanting of King Winter's death.
They're coming! 'Neath the forest's mold,
In mossy beds of ferny soil,
Slowly their tiny robes unfold,
Yet do they neither spin nor toil.
They're coming! With their influence pure,
Their emblematic power again
Of him who would our steps allure
To realms of love, devoid of pain.
They're coming! With the summer's breeze,
With azure skies and sunny showers,
With notes of birds and hum of bees
Who will not welcome back the flowers?