The Princess Has Come
HE white snow has gone from the vale and the mountain;
The ice from the river has melted away;
The hills far and near
Are less winterly drear,
And the buds of the hawthorn are peeping for May.
I hear a light footstep abroad in my garden;
Oh, stay, does the wind through the shrubbery blow?
There's warmth in the breeze,
And a song in the trees,
And the Princess of Springtime is coming, I know.
The crocus has lighted its lamp in the forest,
Though it shelters its flame with a close-drawn green hood;
The primrose peeps out,
With a shiver of doubt,
And wonders if winter has left us for good.
But hark, from afar comes the sound of a bugle!
Or is it the bee where the rose-bushes grow?
He loiters so long,
With such joy in his song,
That the Princess of Springtime is coming, I know.
The blackbird has climbed to the top of the cedar,
And there in the sunshine he whistles a strain.
'She's coming! She's here!'
Are his messages clear,
As squadrons of swallows sweep by in the lane.
Now the woodlands rejoice with the green-tinted hedges;
The young wheat peeps up and the blue sky looks down.
Then out and away!
Our respects we must pay,
When the Princess of Springtime is wearing her crown.