Cometh hither,you bewitching thing,
I has't wait'd long;not anymore,
The winter hath spent on a prayer and a half wing,
I just miss thee m're than before,
Vaward of nature's orchestra,
The starter of nature's sweetest sounds,
The skipper of the beats of mine own heart,
The reason f'r the artist to draw,
The joy with which mine own heart abounds,
Stayeth f'r ever;don't ev'r depart,
Oh ,how much better this life couldst beest,
If 't be true,in all the seasons,
The spring we couldst see,
Still blossoming gardens of flowers,
The melted snow from the high mountains,
In brooks and streams,the effervescent flow,
The shepherds tending their flocks of sheep,
The rosy cheek'd children with faces aglow,
The goatherds churning the butter to keep,
The toast'd bread,butter,and cream,
Sounds surreal;hard to believeth,
Only true if 't be true in a dream,
The endless laughter and joyful screams,
Truly a blessing from the heavens above,
Leaving the bitter winter behind,
This is the season we all shouldst beest,
Truly ,a bewitching sight to see,
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