Hildegard

It is the time when everything Is flusht with presage of the Spring, When every leaf and twig and bud Feels new life rushing like a flood Through greening veins and bursting tips; When every hour a sunbeam slips Across a sleepy flower’s mouth, And wakes it, babbling of the South; When birds are doubtful where or how To hang their nests on trunk or bough, And all that is in wood or croft Beneath an influence balmy-soft Towards the light begins to strive, Feeling how good it is to live!