Love Notes of Spring 



BY T. W. BURGESS 



Good morrow, Mistress Chickadee, 



My Quakeress in sober gray, 

 I hear Tom Titmouse calling thee, 



Softly calling far away, 

 "Phoebe! See me! Phoebe Gray! 



See me Phoebe! See me, pray!" 

 Ah, Tom, you black-capped rogue, didst 



guess 

 My heart would also fain confess 



To softly calling all the day, 

 "Phoebe! Phoebe! Phoebe Gray?" 



And thou, Sir Bluebird, debonair! 



Thou hidden herald of the spring! 

 We joy once more to faintly hear 



Thy sweet, soft love note plaintive ring: 

 "I love, my love! I love thee! 



My love, I love! My love see!" 

 Ah, loyal knight, in heaven's blue, 

 How couldst thou know that beating true 



My heart doth plead and call with thee, 

 "My love, I love! My love see!" 



