All my heart is stirring lightly 
Like dim violets winter-bound, 
Quickening as they feel the brightly 
Glowing sunlight underground. 

Yea, this drear and silent bosom, 
Hushed as snow-hid grove but now, 
Breaketh into leaf and blossom 
Like a gleaming vernal bough. 

Oh the singing, singing, singing! 
Callow hopes that thrill my breast! 
Can the lark of love be winging 
Back to its abandoned nest?