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Spring

Rating: 3.2

SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
   Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
   Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Heather Wilkins 01 July 2013

lovely thoughts of Spring. nice imGERY

2 1 Reply
Rajbarath KR 26 January 2010

a very beautiful poem indeed... rhyme scheme suits the sense and graces the meaning. interesting...

4 2 Reply

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