  Sing me a song of the early spring, Of the yellow light where the clear air cools, Of the lithe willows bourgeoning In the amber pools. Sing me a song of the spangled dells, Where hepaticas tremble in starry groups, Of the adder-tongue swinging its golden bells As the light wind swoops. Sing me a song of the shallow lakes, Of the hollow fall of the nimble rill, Of the trolling rapture the robin wakes On the windy hill. Sing me a song of the gleaming swift, Of the vivid Maryland-yellow-throat, Of the vesper sparrow’s silver drift From the rise remote. Where the tender plants in the frames are set, Where kneels my love Armitage, Planting the pleasant mignonette. Sing me a song of the glow afar, Of the misty air and the crocus light, Of the new moon following a silver star Through the early night.
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