by Arlo Bates
“Wake, robin! Wake, robin!” the trilliums call,
Though never a word they say;
“Wake, robin! Wake, robin!” while bud-sheaths fall,
And violets greet the day.
The soft winds bring the spring again,
The days of snow are done ;
The stir of life’s in every vein,
And warmly shines the sun.
The trillium stars are white as milk,
They beckon as they swing ;
The trillium’s leaves are soft as silk,
They make the robins sing.
Soon all the hill and all the dale
Shall once again be gay ;
When trilliums from the tree-set vale
Open their cups to-day.
“Wake, robin! Wake, robin!” the trilliums cry,
Though never a sound they make ;
“Wake, robin! Wake, robin!” till wings whir by,
And robins sing for their sake.