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“Hark, I hear a robin calling! List, the wind is from the south! And the orchard-bloom is falling Sweet as kisses on the mouth. In the dreamy vale of beeches Fair and faint is woven mist, And the river's orient reaches Are the palest amethyst. Every limpid brook is singing Of the lure of April days; Every piney glen is ringing With the maddest roundelays. Come and let us seek together Springtime lore of daffodils, Giving to the golden weather Greeting on the sun-warm hills.” — Lucy Maud Montgomery
Hark, I hear a robin calling!
List, the wind is from the south!
And the orchard-bloom is falling
Sweet as kisses on the mouth.
In the dreamy vale of beeches
Fair and faint is woven mist,
And the river's orient reaches
Are the palest amethyst.
Every limpid brook is singing
Of the lure of April days;
Every piney glen is ringing
With the maddest roundelays.
Come and let us seek together
Springtime lore of daffodils,
Giving to the golden weather
Greeting on the sun-warm hills.