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Poem	Ho, come out with the wind of spring, And step it blithely in woodlands waking; Friend am I of each growing thing From the gray sod into sunshine breaking; Mine is the magic of twilights dim, Of violets blue on the still pool's rim, Mine is the breath of the blossoms young Sweetest of fragrances storied or sung Come, ye earth-children, weary and worn, I will lead you over the hills of morn. Ho, come out with the summer wind, And loiter in meadows of ripening clover, Where the purple noons are long and kind, And the great white clouds drift fleecily over. Mine is immortal minstrelsy, The fellowship of the rose and bee, Beguiling laughter of willowed rills, The rejoicing of pines on inland hills, Come, ye earth-children, by dale and stream, I will lead you into the ways of dream. Ho, when the wind of autumn rings Through jubilant mornings crisp and golden, Come where the yellow woodland flings Its hoarded wealth over by-ways olden. Mine are the grasses frosted and sere, That lisp and rustle around the mere, Mine are the flying racks that dim The lingering sunset's reddening rim, Earth-children, come, in the waning year, I will harp you to laughter and buoyant cheer. Ho, when the wind of winter blows Over the uplands and moonlit spaces, Come ye out to the waste of snows, To the glimmering fields and the silent places. I whistle gaily on starry nights Through the arch of the elfin northern lights, But in long white valleys I pause to hark Where the ring of the home-lights gems the dark. Come, ye earth-children, whose hearts are sad, I will make you valiant and strong and glad!
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