The Coming of Spring

The birds are coming home soon;

I look for them every day;

I listen to catch the first wild strain,

For they must be singing by May.

The bluebird, he'll come first, you know,

Like a violet that has taken wings;

And the red-breast trills while his nest he builds;

I can hum the song that he sings.

And the crocus and wind flower are coming, too;

They're already upon the way;

When the sun warms the brown earth through and through,

I shall look for them any  day.

Then be patient, and wait a little, my dear;

"They're coming," the winds repeat;

"We're coming! we're coming!" I 'm sure I hear,

From the grass blades that grow at my feet.