RETURNING
Spring pipes an airy measure
That only he can play:
I caught its echo on the hill
This morning while the world was still
And the dreamy hollows began to fill
With a laughing rumour of day.
The hours of sleep are over,
The wintry night is past;
Spring pipes his joyance far and near
And hope awakes in hearts that hear,
As the bud and leaf and bloom o’ the year
Shall wake to his calling at last.
Adown through greening valleys,
Up over hill and wold—
Oh, youth and joy and love are met
In every note his lips beget!
And the world shall hear and follow him yet,
And forget it is growing old.