Songs of the Sea Children

by Bliss Carman




Once more in every tree-top 
I hear the hollow wind 
A-blowing the last remnants 
Of winter from the land.

Far down the April morning,


With battle-clang and glee,
The Boreal intruders 
Are driven to the sea.

Then softly, buds of scarlet,
Warm rain, and purple wing—

The tattered glad uncumbered
Camp-followers of spring!