I hear the west wind's call through the window open flung:
'Oh, come ye forth the budding woods and fields among.
Your cares and worries fling like a worn-out cloak aside;
And come ye swiftly forth where the vernal day is wide;
Come ye out to the fields and the blue-pavilioned hills,
Where the wakened earth to the sun's warm kisses thrills;
And the songs of the birds are a rapturous paean of praise
To the joy and the beauty of Spring's first perfect days.'
I hear the west wind's call, and I must arise and go
Out where the day is fair and the joyous breezes blow.