"Tis Sweetest in the Spring"
By Rachel Heffington
The farmers wives are scouring
their farmhouse kitchen floors
The bold, brisk lads are happy-eyed
and whistle out of doors.
The dairy-maids churn butter
Into little golden pats
and squirt the streams of pearly milk
to sleek soft-footed cats.
The red-cheeked children play beneath
the pear trees caught in bloom
And to and from the hidden hives
the striped bees zip and zoom.
The farmer with the sober horse
plows furrows in the field,
counting, with a cautious eye,
how well the earth will yield.
The breezes whisper to the rose
that clambers on the well
And drops into it's blushing ear
dreams lovers yearn to tell.
The sunbeams dance within the brook
and dimple in the shade
The grass is greening on the lea
and in the forest glade.
And with a joyous burst of song
the robin red-breasts sing,
the tune in every beating heart:
"Tis sweetest in the Spring!"