I'm going to treat you to another of James Whitcomb Riley's poems. I recently purchased, at auction, a book co-authored by Riley and Bill Nye, published by Thompson & Thomas, Chicago, 1900.
A Hint of Spring
'Twas but a hint of Spring --- for still
The atmosphere was sharp and chill ---
Save where the genial sunshine smote
The shoulders of my overcoat,
And o'er the snow beneath my feet
Laid spectral fences down the street.
My shadow even seemed to be
Elate with some new buoyancy,
and bowed and bobbed in my advance
With trippingest extravagance,
And when a bird sang out somewhere,
It seemed to wheel with me, and stare.
(Eastern Phoebe in Dad's tree)
Above I heard a rasping stir ---
And on the roof the carpenter
Was perched, and prodding rusty leaves
From out the choked and dripping eaves ---
And some one, hammering about,
Was taking all the windows out.
Old scraps of shingles fell before
The noisy mansions' open door;
And wrangling children raked the yard,
And labored much, and laughed as hard
And fired the burning trash I smelt
And sniffed again --- so good I felt!
Once we pass through this most recent cold spell, we can surely expect Spring to remain true!
And doesn't it indeed feel GOOD? :-) SG
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