Picnic In the Heights
After the slow sluggish winters,
It’s spring— breezy and bracing,
It’s sun— fervent and fair;
Oh! The bored hearts wish to fly, of the calm clean roads
And, picnic in the heights...
On the auburn pastures
underneath the white clouds between the trees of fir
With the wild crows ere the frozen falls
By the gushing evaporating springs by the rushing snowy rill
Near the drizzling glaciers;
And, prepare a light-tea,
Have together—stopping, reclined, behind the giant rocks, face to face—taciturn!
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