WAKING 



By CAROLYN B. LYMAN 



The warm south wind comes whispering 



Along the willow stream, 

 With fond sweet breath it gently wakes 



The violets from their dream. 



It murmurs 'long the sunny bank — 



Each ferny hidden nook — 

 A low, sweet love-song to the flowers, 



With murmurings of the brook. 



It whispers that the birds are come, 



The robin and the wren, 

 Their early song and warbling 



Now wakes the morn again. 



The children roam the sunny fields ; 



'Tis blossom time — they wait ; 

 Yet wondering why the flowers dream 



And why they sleep so late. 



It whispers over land and lea : 

 The glad spring days are here, 



Each heart, it fills with life and song — 

 This waking time of year. 



Upon its breath the butterfly 

 Will spread its golden wing; 



Last year before its sleep it was 

 A tiny, creeping thing. 



Yet now, how bright the glad new life ! 



The flowers, the wings of gold ! 

 That Earth held in her bosom, warm, 



Through days of winter cold ! 



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