The Willow

Who shall sing a simple ditty about the Willow, Dainty-fine and delicate as any bending spray That dandles high the dainty bird that flutters there to trill a Tremulously tender song of greeting to the May. Bravest, too, of all the trees! -- none to match your daring,-- First of greens to greet the Spring and lead in leafy sheen;-- Aye, and you're the last -- almost into winter wearing Still the leaf of loyalty -- still the badge of green. Ah, my lovely willow! --let the waters lilt your graces,-- They alone with limped kisses lave your leaves above, Flashing back your silvan beauty, and in shady places Peering up with glimmering pebbles, like the eyes of love.