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Henry Van Dyke - How Spring Comes To Shasta Jim
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I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot`s a "lure";
But if it`s sumpin` takin`, then Spring has got it sure;
An` it doesn`t need no Kiplins, ner yet no London Jacks,
To make up guff about it, w`ile settin` in their shacks.

It`s sumpin` very simple `at happens in the Spring,
But it changes all the lookin`s of every blessed thing;
The buddin` woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high,
But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn`t tell ye why.

It`s cur`ous wot a show-down the month of April makes,
Between the reely livin`, an` the things `at`s only fakes!
Machines an` barns an` buildin`s, they never give no sign;
But the livin` things look lively w`en Spring is on the line.

She doesn`t come too suddin, ner she doesn`t come too slow;
Her gaits is some cayprishus, an` the next ye never know,—
A single-foot o` sunshine, a buck o` snow er hail—
But don`t be disapp`inted, fer Spring ain`t goin` ter fail.

She`s loopin` down the hillside,—the driffs is fadin` out.
She`s runnin` down the river,—d`ye see them risin` trout?
She`s loafin` down the canyon,—the squaw-bed`s growin` blue,
An` the teeny Johnny-jump-ups is jest a-peekin` thru.

A thousan` miles o` pine-trees, with Douglas firs between,
Is waitin` fer her fingers to freshen up their green;
With little tips o` brightness the firs `ill sparkle thick,
An` every yaller pine-tree, a giant candlestick!

The underbrush is risin` an` spreadin` all around,
Jest like a mist o` greenness `at hangs above the ground;
A million manzanitas `ill soon be full o` pink;
So saddle up, my sonny,—it`s time to ride, I think!

We`ll ford er swim the river, becos there ain`t no bridge;
We`ll foot the gulches careful, an` lope along the ridge;
We`ll take the trail to Nowhere, an` travel till we tire,
An` camp beneath a pine-tree, an` sleep beside the fire.

We`ll see the blue-quail chickens, an` hear `em pipin` clear;
An` p`raps we`ll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o` deer;
But nary a heathen goddess or god `ill meet our eyes;
For why? There isn`t any! They`re jest a pack o` lies!

Oh, wot`s the use o` "red gods," an` "Pan," an` all that stuff?
The natcheral facts o` Springtime is wonderful enuff!
An` if there`s Someone made `em` I guess He understood,
To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good.
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