THE SONG OF
THE BLACKTHORN FAIRY

The wind is cold, the Spring seems long
a-waking;
The woods are brown and bare;
Yet this is March: soon April will be making
All things most sweet and fair.

See even now, in hedge and thicket tangled,
One brave and cheering sight:
Th leafless branches of the Blackthorn,
spangled
With starry blossoms white!