I want to know the joy once more, Of watching snowdrifts melt From round about my door. Once more to see the first green blades Pierce as a sword, the dark earth's crust; And see the leaves tinge branches bare With softest green; and maples, budding red. To see the forsythia's golden bells, Which seem to ring as chimes, and tell The children, and all passersby—" 'Tis spring, Today you'll see the swallows fly." All these I've seen for many a year, And yet, at times I almost fear I've missed perhaps some lovely thing; So God—let me see one more spring. |