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BLITHE birds, sing to the spring;
The spring has waked on this young April day,
With all your tiny voice give welcoming,
The spring has waked, we waken and are gay.
So long the winter lowered,
So weary long upon the mourning earth;
So tremblingly the shivering March blooms flowered
And waned, touched with the frost death from their birth.
So long the skies were low
And always darkening downwards cold and grey,
So long forgotten was the sunlight glow,
So far far in the past the last bright day.
And now the spring has come;
Sing, sing, wild twittering birds, sing from the trees,
You who, as I, can only feel a home
In the great earth when glad with days like these.
We waken, you and I, from winter chills,
With the new sunny days, with the young flowers;
Sing with me, sing your clearest happiest trills,
The riches of the springtime all are ours.
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