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I am so blithe and glad today!
At morn I heard a bluebird sing;
The bluebird, warbling soul of spring,
The prophet of the leafy May--
And I knew the violets under the tree
Would listen and look the bird to see,
Peeping timidly, here and there,
In purple and odor to charm the air;
And the wind-flower lift its rose-veined cup,
In the leaves of the old year buried up,
And all the delicate buds that bloom
On the moss-beds, deep in the forest gloom,
Would stir in their slumber, and catch the strain,
And dream of the sun and the April rain--
For spring has come when the bluebird sings,
And folds in the maple his glossy wings,
And the wind may blow and the storm may fall,
But the voice of summer is heard in all.


I am so blithe and glad today!
My heart, beside the bluebird, sings,
And folds, serene, its weary wings,
And knows the hours lead on to May.