FIRST SIGNS, 



aS soon as Spring, with its leaves and flowers, 

 Has made field and wood-land so pleasing, 

 Warming alike earth's heart and ours, 



And the poor little brook that was freezing 

 As soon as Phoebe has reared her first young 



As of years under eaves protecting, 

 The poplar its pollen and catkins wide flung 

 And light, trembling leaves, perfecting. 



Then we see creeping o'er Nature's bright face 



The first signs of Autumn advancing, 

 It may be a berry ahead in the race, 



Itself and its kind enhancing; 

 It may be a leaf turned yellow at prime, 



A late butterfly early appearing, 

 Or it may be that beat, beat, pulse like rhyme, 



A cricket to cricket a-cheering. 



