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.