  Oh, the sunshine told the bluebird, And the bluebird told the brook, That the dandelions were peeping From the woodland's sheltered nook; So the brook was blithe and happy, And it babbled all the way, As it ran to tell the river Of the coming of the May. Then the river told the meadow, And the meadow told the bee, That the tender buds were swelling On the old horse-chestnut tree; And the bee shook off its torpor, And it spread each gauzy wing, As it flew to tell the flowers Of the coming of the spring. |
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