Did a robin call
From the alder tall?
Oh, listen. . . Hush. . .
Did I hear a thrush?
And the gray wood thro’
Did I catch the blue
Of a bluebird’s wing
As he paused to sing?
(Or do I dream?)
Hark, hark! Did I hear
From the lonely mere
That shrill note set
In the flageolet
Of the frog? Did I hear,
Sweet, fine, and clear,
From the meadow. . . Hark! . . . .
The song of the lark?
(Or do I dream?) And trembling and high
Did a voice go by,
Sweet, lyrical, pure,
With a thrill and a lure?
Did it rise and fall,
Flutelike, and call,
“Oh, waken and sing,
I am Spring, I am Spring!”
(Or do I dream?)
And straight did my heart
From its doubting start
To flower and sing
At the will of spring?
And I—did I steal
To the forest and kneel,
Brow-bent, on the sod
And give thanks to God?
(Or do I dream?)
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