An American Forest Song - An 1856 Poem
By Alfred B. Street.
- Now fluttering breeze, now stormy blast,
- Mild rain, then blustering snow
- Winter's stern, fluttering cold is passed,
- But, sweet Spring, where are thou?
- The white cloud floats 'mid smiling blue,
- The broad bright sunshine's golden hue
- Bathes the still frozen earth;
- 'Tis changed! above black vapors roll
- We turn from our expected stroll,
- And seek the blazing hearth.
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- Hark! that sweet carol with delight
- We leave the sitting room,
- The little blue bird meets our sight
- Spring, glorious Spring has come!
- The south-wind's balm is in the air,
- The melting snow wreaths everywhere
- Are leaping off in showers;
- And Nature, in her brightening looks
- Tells that her flowers and leaves and brooks
- And birds will soon be ours.
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- A few soft sunny days have shone,
- The air has lost its chill,
- A bright green tinge succeeds the brown
- Upon the southern hill
- Off to the woods a pleasant scene;
- Here sprouts the fresh young wintergreen,
- There swells a mossy mound;
- Though in the hollow drifts are piled,
- The wandering wind is sweet and mild,
- And buds are bursting sound.
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- Where its long rings uncurls the fern,
- The violet, nestling low,
- Casts back the white lid of its urn,
- Its purple streaks to show
- Beautiful blossom! first to rise
- And smile beneath Spring's weakening skies.
- The courier of the band
- Of coming flowers, what feelings sweet
- Gush as the silvery gem we meet
- Upon its slender wand!
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- Warmer is each successive sky,
- More soft the breezes pass;
- The maple's gems of crimson lie
- Upon the thick green grass
- The dogwood sheds its clusters white,
- The birch has dropped its tassels slight,
- Cowslips are round the rill;
- The thresher whistles in the glen,
- Flutters around the warbling wren,
- And swamps have voices shrill.
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- A simultaneous burst of leaves
- Has clothed the forest now;
- A single day's bright sunshine weaves
- This vivid, gorgeous show
- Masses of shade are cast beneath,
- The flowers are spread in varied wreath
- Night brings its soft, sweet moon;
- Morn wakes in mist, and twilight gray
- Weeps its bright dew, and smiling May
- Melts into blooming June.
May 29, 1856. Washington D.C. Evening Star 7(1032): 4.