Spring once more is here — 
Joyous, sweet, and clear — 
Singing down the leafless aisles 
To the budding year.

Her chanting is the thrush 
Through the twilight hush, 
And the silver tongues of waters 
Where the willows blush;

Stir of lifting heads 
Over violet beds; 
Piping of the first glad robin 
Through the greens and reds;

Croak of sullen crows 
When the south wind blows, 
Sighing in the shaggy spruces 
Wet with melted snows;

Whisper of the rain 
Down the hills again, 
And the heavy feet of waters 
Tramping on the plain.

Now the Goddess Spring 
Makes the woodlands ring, 
Bringing with a hundred voices 
Joy to everything.