The winds of March are trumpeters,They blow with might and main,And herald to the waiting earthThe Spring and all her train.They harbinger the April showers,With sunny smiles between,That wake the blossoms in their beds,And make the meadows green.The South will send her spicy breath,The brook in music flow,The orchard don a bloomy robeOf May's unmelting snow.Then June will stretch her golden days,Like harp-strings, bright and long,And play a rich accompanimentTo every wild bird's song.The fair midsummer time, apace,Shall bring us many a boon,And ripened fruits, and yellow sheavesBeneath the harvest-moon.The golden-rod, a Grecian torch,Will light the splendid scene,When Autumn comes in all the pompAnd glory of a queen.Her crimson sign shall flash and shineOn every wooded hill,And Plenty's horn unto the brimHer lavish bounty fill.—Andrew Downing.
The winds of March are trumpeters,They blow with might and main,And herald to the waiting earthThe Spring and all her train.They harbinger the April showers,With sunny smiles between,That wake the blossoms in their beds,And make the meadows green.The South will send her spicy breath,The brook in music flow,The orchard don a bloomy robeOf May's unmelting snow.Then June will stretch her golden days,Like harp-strings, bright and long,And play a rich accompanimentTo every wild bird's song.The fair midsummer time, apace,Shall bring us many a boon,And ripened fruits, and yellow sheavesBeneath the harvest-moon.The golden-rod, a Grecian torch,Will light the splendid scene,When Autumn comes in all the pompAnd glory of a queen.Her crimson sign shall flash and shineOn every wooded hill,And Plenty's horn unto the brimHer lavish bounty fill.—Andrew Downing.
The winds of March are trumpeters,They blow with might and main,And herald to the waiting earthThe Spring and all her train.
The winds of March are trumpeters,
They blow with might and main,
And herald to the waiting earth
The Spring and all her train.
They harbinger the April showers,With sunny smiles between,That wake the blossoms in their beds,And make the meadows green.
They harbinger the April showers,
With sunny smiles between,
That wake the blossoms in their beds,
And make the meadows green.
The South will send her spicy breath,The brook in music flow,The orchard don a bloomy robeOf May's unmelting snow.
The South will send her spicy breath,
The brook in music flow,
The orchard don a bloomy robe
Of May's unmelting snow.
Then June will stretch her golden days,Like harp-strings, bright and long,And play a rich accompanimentTo every wild bird's song.
Then June will stretch her golden days,
Like harp-strings, bright and long,
And play a rich accompaniment
To every wild bird's song.
The fair midsummer time, apace,Shall bring us many a boon,And ripened fruits, and yellow sheavesBeneath the harvest-moon.
The fair midsummer time, apace,
Shall bring us many a boon,
And ripened fruits, and yellow sheaves
Beneath the harvest-moon.
The golden-rod, a Grecian torch,Will light the splendid scene,When Autumn comes in all the pompAnd glory of a queen.
The golden-rod, a Grecian torch,
Will light the splendid scene,
When Autumn comes in all the pomp
And glory of a queen.
Her crimson sign shall flash and shineOn every wooded hill,And Plenty's horn unto the brimHer lavish bounty fill.—Andrew Downing.
Her crimson sign shall flash and shine
On every wooded hill,
And Plenty's horn unto the brim
Her lavish bounty fill.
—Andrew Downing.