TO CHARLOTTE
Ye blossom boughsOf apple trees, down trailAnd shed your fragrance everywhere.See the light clouds a-sail,Wreathed in the golden air,—A dream of Spring.Is aught so lovely anywhere?The mating birds on wing,The crocus peeping unaware,And every growing thingAll fragrant in a riot rare,—A dream of spring.And loveliest, most fragrant, fair,Ye blossom boughs.
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