 | Berries & Blossoms |  |
86
FOUR TWIGS FOR A BIRCH.
Well, I wonder where the Spring is hiding;
Just look out and call him;
He's dropp'd off to sleep, no doubt, a chiding
Will, I trust, befall him.
Just look out and call him;
He's dropp'd off to sleep, no doubt, a chiding
Will, I trust, befall him.
Little Bell's gone peeping, prying, prowling,
But rough Winter lingers;
He'll pounce on her, like a Bear, and growling,
Pinch her toes and fingers.
But rough Winter lingers;
He'll pounce on her, like a Bear, and growling,
Pinch her toes and fingers.
Ah! if I were Summer, I'd not pardon
Lazy Spring's long dozes;
I'd just take his place, and fill his garden
With red July roses.
Lazy Spring's long dozes;
I'd just take his place, and fill his garden
With red July roses.
And when at the door, he cried—sweet lisper,
“I'm the Spring; d'ye hear, Sir?”
I'd just tell the hollyhock to whisper,
“There's no Spring this year, Sir.”
“I'm the Spring; d'ye hear, Sir?”
I'd just tell the hollyhock to whisper,
“There's no Spring this year, Sir.”
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