The winter wanes and the south-wind blows
From the Summer Islands legendary.
The skeskas [46] fly and the melted snows
In lakelets lie on the dimpled prairie.
The frost-flowers [47] peep from their winter sleep
Under the snow-drifts cold and deep.

To the April sun and the April showers,
In field and forest, the baby flowers
Lift their golden faces and azure eyes;
And wet with the tears of the winter-fairies,
Soon bloom and blossom the emerald prairies,
Like the fabled Garden of Paradise.

The plum-trees, white with their bloom in May,
Their sweet perfume on the vernal breeze
Wide strew like the isles of the tropic seas,
Where the paroquet chatters the livelong day.
But the May-days pass and the brave Chaske--
O, why does the lover so long delay?
Wiwaste waits in the lonely tee,
Has her fair face fled from his memory?
For the robin cherups his mate to please,
The blue bird pipes in the poplar trees,
The meadow lark warbles his jubilees,
Shrilling his song in the azure seas,
Till the welkin throbs to his melodies;
And low is the hum of the humble bees,
And the Feast of the Virgins is now to be.