html website builder

The snow-drops rising hand in hand
Proclaim that spring is here;
The willow's silver finger-tips
In swamp and wood appear;
The bluebird pauses from his work
To tell that May is near.


My heart keeps time to merry songs,
The songs the gay birds sing;
Oh! I could dance for very joy
To music of the spring;
The gladdest days of all the year
Are these that promise bring.


For sweeter far than what we see,
The dream of all that is to be.