  IF thou canst make the frost be gone, And fleet away the snow (And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst make the spring to dawn, Hawthorn to put her brav’ry on, Willow, her weeds of fine green lawn, Say why thou dost not so— Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so! If thou canst chase the stormy rack, And bid the soft winds blow (And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst call the thrushes back To give the groves the songs they lack, And wake the violet in thy track, Say why thou dost not so— Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so! If thou canst make my winter spring, With one word breathÈd low (And that thou canst, I know); If in the closure of a ring Thou canst to me such treasure bring, My state shall be above a king, Say why thou dost not so— Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so! |
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