Their faint "honk-honk" announces them,
The geese when they come flying north;
Above the far horizon's hem
From out the south they issue forth.
They weave their figures in the sky.
They write their name upon its dome.
And, o'er and o'er, we hear them cry
Their cry of gladness and of home.
Now lakes shall loose their icy hold
Upon the banks, and crocus bloom;
The sun shall warm the river's cold
And pierce the Winter's armored gloom;
The vines upon the oaken tree
Shall shake their wavy tresses forth,
The grass shall wake, the rill go free—
For, see! The geese are flying north!
