Spring Poems

Daffodowndilly

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
“Winter is dead.”

By A.A. Milne

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth

Dandelion

Hey-a-day-a-day, my dear! Dandelion time!
Come, and let us make for them a pretty little rhyme!

See the meadows twinkling now, beautiful and bright
As the sky when through the blue, shine the stars at night!

Once upon a time, folks say, mighty kings of old
Met upon a splendid field called “The Cloth of Gold.”

But, we wonder, could it be there was ever seen
Brighter gold than glitters now in our meadows green?

Dandelions, dandelions, shining through the dew,
Let the kings have Cloth of Gold, but let us have you!

By Evaleen Stein

Dandelion Curls

Ah, ha, ha, now! who comes here
Wreathed in flowers of gold and queer
Tiny tangled curls of green
Gaily bobbing in between?
Pretty token of the spring!
Hark! we hear the bluebirds sing
When we thus see little girls
Decked in dandelion curls.

By Evaleen Stein

A Sure Sign

When you see upon the walk
Circles newly made of chalk,
And around them all the day
Little boys in eager play
Rolling marbles, agates fine,
Banded, polished, red as wine,
Marbles crystal as the dew,
Each with rainbows twisted through,
Marbles gay in painted clay,
Flashing, twinkling in your way.
When the walk has blossomed so,
Surely every one must know
None need wonder who has heard
Robin, wren, or Peter-bird;
Sure the sign as song or wing,
It is spring!

By Evaleen Stein

Another Sure Sign

When pink-cheeked on every hand
Little girls are seen to stand
Turning skipping ropes,
– swish-swash! –
While their laughing playmates run
Jumping over, – oh, what fun! –
Swish-swash! Swish-swash!
Two and two now, see them dash!
One, two, one, two,
Round they scamper, safely through,
Swish-swash! such merry skipping,
One, two, – some one is tripping!
Ah, she’s out now and must pay
Turning rope while others play!
See the bobbing golden curls,
Little skirts in rhythmic swirls
Rising, falling, to the beat
Of the little skipping feet!
When these pretty sights appear,
It is surely very clear
April’s here!

By Evaleen Stein

Spring Rain

The storm came up so very quick
It couldn’t have been quicker.
I should have brought my hat along,
I should have brought my slicker.
My hair is wet, my feet are wet,
I couldn’t be much wetter.
I fell into a river once
But this is even better.

By Marchette Chute

My Spring Garden

Here is my little garden,
Some seeds I’m going to sow.
Here is my rake to rake the ground,
Here is my handy hoe.
Here is the big, round yellow sun;
The sun warms everything.
Here are the rainclouds in the sky;
The birds will start to sing.
Little plants will wake up soon,
And lift their sleepy heads;
Little plants will grow and grow
In their little, warm earth beds.

March Wind

March wind is a jolly fellow;
He likes to joke and play.
He turns umbrellas inside out
And blows men’s hats away.
He calls the pussywillows
And whispers in each ear,
“Wake up you lazy little seeds;
Don’t you know that spring is here?”

Little Seeds

Little seeds we sow in spring
growing while the robins sing,
give us carrots, peas and beans,
tomatoes, pumpkins, squash and greens.
And we pick them,
one and all,
through the summer,
through the fall,
Winter comes, then spring, and then
little seeds we sow again.

By Else Holmelund Minarik

May-Baskets

Let us take our baskets early
To the meadows green,
While the wildflowers still are pearly
With the dewdrops’ sheen.
Fill them full of blossoms rosy,
Violets and gay
Cowslips, every pretty posy
Welcoming the May.
Then our lovely loads we’ll carry
Down the village street,
On each door, with laughter merry,
Hang a basket sweet.
Hey-a-day-day! It is spring now,
Lazy folks, awake!
See the pretty things we bring now
For the May-day’s sake!

By Evaleen Stein

Spring Has Sprung

Spring has sprung,
the grass has ris’,
I wonder where the birdie is?
There he is, up in the sky,
He dropped some whitewash in my eye!
I‘m alright, I won’t cry,
I’m just glad that cows can’t fly!

The Beech Tree

I’d like to have a garden
With a beech tree on the lawn;
The little birds that lived there
Would wake me up at dawn.

And in the summer weather
When all the leaves were green,
I’d sit beneath the beach boughs
And see the sky between.

Showery Time

The April raindrops tinkle
In cuckoo-cups of gold,
And warm south winds unwrinkle
The buds the peach-boughs hold.

In countless fluted creases
The little elm leaves show,
While white as carded fleeces
The dogwood blossoms blow.

A rosy robe is wrapping
The early redbud trees;
But still the haws are napping,
Nor heed the honeybees.

And still in lazy sleeping
The apple-buds are bound,
But tulip-tips are peeping
From out the garden ground.

And yonder, gaily swinging
Upon the turning vane,
A robin redbreast singing
Makes merry at the rain!

By Evaleen Stein

The Queen’s Page

Once I was a little page
To a May-day queen,
And I wore a little coat
Made of Lincoln green.

Oh, the queen was beautiful!
And she had a bright
Crown of golden cuckoo-buds
And violets, blue and white.

On the step beside her throne
I sat very still,
Ready, as a page should be,
To obey her will.

And before us little girls,
Each with garlands gay,
Round a Maypole danced and sang
Almost all the day.

By Evaleen Stein

Up, Little Ones!

A robin redbreast, fluting there
Upon the apple-bough,
Is telling all the world how fair
Are apple-blossoms now;
The honey-dew its sweetness spills
From cuckoo-cups, and all
The crocuses and daffodils
Are dressed for festival!

Such pretty things are to be seen,
Such pleasant things to do,
The April earth it is so green,
The April sky so blue,
The path from dawn to even-song
So joyous is today,
Up, little ones! and dance along
The lilac-scented way!

By Evaleen Stein

Kite Days

A kite, a sky, and a good firm breeze,
And acres of ground away from trees,
And one hundred yards of clean, strong string –
O boy, O boy! I call that Spring!

By Mark Sawyer

I Meant To Do My Work Today

I meant to do my work today,
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land,
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand –
So what could I do but laugh and go?

By Richard Le Gallienne

Dripsy Dropsy

Dripsy, dropsy
Pitter, patter
Falling to the ground.
Fast, then slow
Until it stops.
Oh what a welcome sound!

By Leanne Guenther

A Rain Song

Tinkle, tinkle,
Lightly fall
On the peach buds, pink and small;
Tip the tiny grass, and twinkle
On the clover, green and tall.

Tinkle, tinkle, –
Faster now,
Little raindrops, smite and sprinkle
Cherry-bloom and apple-bough!
Pelt the elms, and show them how
You can dash!
And splash! splash! splash!
While the thunder rolls and mutters,
And the lightnings flash and flash!
Then eddy into curls
Of a million misty swirls,
And thread the air with silver,
and embroider it with pearls!

And patter, patter, patter
To a quicker time, and clatter
On the streaming windowpane;
Rain, rain,
On the leaves,
And the eaves,
And the turning weathervane!

Rush in torrents from the tip
Of the gable-peak, and drip
In the garden-bed, and fill
All the cuckoo-cups, and pour
More and more
In the tulip-bowls, and still
Overspill
In a crystal tide until
Every yellow daffodil
Is flooded to its golden rim,
and brimming o’er and o’er!

Then as gently as the low
Muffled whir of robin wings,
Or a sweep of silver strings,
Even so,
Take your airy April flight
Through the merry April light,
And melt into a mist of rainy music as you go!

By Evaleen Stein