When the greenness is come again

The west wind lifts the plumes of the fir,

The west wind swings on the pine;

In the sun-and-shadow the cushats stir;

For the breath of Spring is a wine

That fills the wood,

That thrills the blood,

When the glad March sun doth shine.

When the strong May sun is a song, a song,

A song in the good green world,

Then the little green leaves wax long

And the little fern-fronds are uncurl'd

The banners of green are all unfurl'd,

And the wind goes marching along, along,

The wind goes marching along

The good green world.