A VERNAL SONG 



Who's with me? Who's with me? 



Come, ye lads and lassies! 

 For the hird is in the tree, 



And the south-wind passes, 

 Making wooing melody 



In the leaning grasses! 



Every migrant of the earth 



Knows the sap runs mellow; 

 Every thing of roving birth 



Feels the spring his fellow; 

 Up and down, with flooding mirth, 



Capers Punchinello. 



Wheresoe'er we look abroad, 



Lo, the sky caresses! 

 Cowslips perk and wind-flowers nod 



In their dainty dresses; 

 Gleam upon the woodland sod 



Violets and cresses. 



Every laneway hath its lure, 



Every path its pledges; 

 There is happiness, he sure, 



Hidden in the hedges. 

 And where rills go purling pure 



Down the mossy ledges. 



So, since joy is in the land. 



Come, ye lads and lassies! 

 Let us rove, a loving band, 



Where the south-wind passes, 

 Hand in hand, hand in hand, 



Through the leaning grasses! 



Clinton Scollard 



From The Lvric Bough 

 of the author 



