When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.

Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine - 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine.

The victory of endurance born.

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.

The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

But fair the exil'd Palm-tree grew Midst foliage of no kindred hue; Through the laburnum's dropping gold Rose the light shaft of Orient mould, And Europe's vio…

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair.