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!