Would you not be in Tryon Now that the spring is here, When mocking-birds are praising The fresh, the blossomy year? Look -- on the leafy carpet Woven of winter's browns Iris and pink azaleas Flutter their gaudy gowns. The dogwood spreads white meshes -- So white and light and high -- To catch the drifting sunlight Out of the cobalt sky. The pointed beech and maple, The pines, dark-tufted, tall, Pattern with many colors The mountain's purple wall. Hark -- what a rushing torrent Of crystal song falls sheer! Would you not be in Tryon Now that the spring is here? |