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So Long In Coming

by
 When shall I hear the thrushes sing, 
And see their graceful, round throats swelling? 
When shall I watch the bluebirds bring
The straws and twiglets for their dwelling? 
When shall I hear among the trees
The little martial partridge drumming? 
Oh! Hasten! Sights and sounds that please –
The summer is so long in coming.
The winds are talking with the sun; I hope they will combine together And melt the snow-drifts, one by one, And bring again the golden weather.
Oh, haste, make haste, dear sun and wind, I long to hear the brown bee humming; I seek for blooms I cannot find, The summer is so long in coming.
The winter has been cold, so cold; Its winds are harsh, and bleak, and dreary, And all its sports are stale and old; We wait for something now more cheery.
Come up, O summer, from the south, And bring the harps your hands are thrumming.
We pine for kisses from your mouth! Oh! Do not be so long in coming.

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