Would you not be in Tryon
   Now that the spring is here,
When mocking-birds are praising
   The fresh, the blossomy year?

Look -- on the leafy carpet
   Woven of winter's browns
Iris and pink azaleas
   Flutter their gaudy gowns.

The dogwood spreads white meshes --
   So white and light and high --
To catch the drifting sunlight
   Out of the cobalt sky.

The pointed beech and maple,
   The pines, dark-tufted, tall,
Pattern with many colors
   The mountain's purple wall.

Hark -- what a rushing torrent
   Of crystal song falls sheer!
Would you not be in Tryon
   Now that the spring is here?