O how I long again to see
The vernal face of Spring,
And hear, from every budding tree,
Some little warbler sing. I long to see the forest trees
Clothed in their robes of green,
And swaying in the gentle breeze
Display their glossy sheen. I long to wander by the stream
Where sport the speckled trout,
Or in the noontide's genial gleam
See lambkins frisk about. I long to see the sons of toil
Perform the noble deed
Of breaking up the stubborn soil
To plant the fertile seed. I long to see the meadows green
Bespread with flowerets gay--
I long to have a change of scene
From winter cold and gray. It won't be long--a little while
And snows will disappear
And Flora with her winning smile
Shall find a welcome here.
- S. Moore