Aha! Oho! Under the drifted snow We bulbs are laughing, aha, oho, At man's new toy of a radio, The toy God gave to us long ago. Haven't we always heard Whenever an acorn stirred, Or chilly hepatica, fuzzy-furred, Azured or purpled or lavendered Her buds to welcome the April bird? Listen, listen in To the cricket violin Already tuning his minikin Fiddlestick legs for the insect spin On moonlight meadows when Junes begin. Listen in for the whir Of a million looms, the stir Of each seed and bulb artificer Weaving a carpet to spread for her, Wayward Spring. Ah, loiterer! While the white months pass, We hear the roots of the grass Tremble; already the iced morass The catkins use as a looking-glass. We hear sap run in the sassafras. Spring, O come apace! Shadblow launders her lace, Violet and anemone race To be first at the trysting-place, And wild-rose rouges her piquant face. Aha! Oho! Under the melting snow We bulbs are laughing, our hearts aglow, As we listen in on the radio To Spring's dear steps, so far, so slow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1883 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 4 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EXTEMPORE VERSES ON A TRIAL OF SKILL BETWEEN MSSRS. FIGG AND SUTTON by JOHN BYROM THE SHEARER'S SERENADE by PIERRE CASSEE |