When a feller feels a longing
For the medder in his breast.
When the robins north are thronging,
Where they haste to build their nest.
When the frogs peep in the puddle
Where I love to hear them sing,
Then my brain is in a muddle,
For I know it's really spring.
When the double windows smother
Us until we want more air;
When a protest comes and mother
Can't endure them longer there;
When we ope the cellar shutters,
Kitchen doors are on the swing,
Clean the cisterns, fix the gutters―
Then I know its truly spring.
When the wild ducks and geese are going
Northward, "dragging" as they fly;
When the streams are overflowing,
And a rainbow gilds the sky;
When the plowman turns the stubble
Where the bluebirds sweetly sing,
When comes carpet-beating trouble,
Then I'm confident it's spring.
When the jack-torch men are spearing
Silver suckers in the brook,
And the angleworms appearing.
Seem quite anxious for my hook;
When the mellow sunlights beckon
Till the mill wheel starts to sing,
Then's the time the fish, I reckon,
'Spect to see me―Come! It's spring!