Sonnet To Spring

Spring, Spring, oh! gentle spring,

To thee how I love to sing,

For the pleasure thou dost bring

As thou comest on the wing.

Yards of verse to thee I string,

At thy feet my self I fling,

Giving thy fair hand a wring,

For sweet mem’ries round thee cling.

Freeing for old winter King,

With his sharp and bitter sting,

Thou hast shaken everything,

And with sprightly dash and swing

Made all nature sweetly sing.

Ding ding, O, Spring, ting a ling.

Jan. 10, ‘93

Pub. in “Yankee

Blade”