(He sings)
Dearest, it is the Easter-time,
The love-time of the year,
And every little bird in rhyme
Is telling far and near
His passion to his listening mate …
Shall I alone, then, fear?
Nay … When the salmonberry shows
Its crimson, veiny bells,
And when the shadbush whitely blows
In lonely forest dells,
May I not tell my love in rhyme,
As his the robin tells?
When up the full veins of the pine
The sap push lustily,
And blossoms star the twinflower vine
Around each mossy tree,
And wandering silver seabirds mate
In hollows of the sea;
When the last fluffy snowbird goes
The way that winter went,
And the thorn is scarlet on the rose,
And the willow's silver spent,
And here and there and everywhere
Is blown the violet's scent,
Then haply may I courage take,
By love and hope made strong,
And pray thee, dearest, to awake,
When the night is sweet and long,
And whitely from thy casement lean,
To hear my trembling song.
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