SOMEWHERE there's a willow budding
In a hollow by the river,
Where the autumn leaves lie sodden,
Turning all the pool to brown;
There's a thrush who's building early,
With his feathers all a-shiver,
And the maple sap is rising —
But I'm glad that I'm in town.
Somewhere out there in the country
There's a brook that's overflowing,
And a quaker pussy-willow
Sews grey velvet on her gown;
Rushes whisper to each other
That marsh marigolds are showing,
And those saucy crocus fellows —
But I'm glad that I'm in town.
Long ago, when we were younger,
How those little things enthralled us;
King-birds nesting in the hedges,
Baby field-mice soft as down,
Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows —
Strange how all these voices called us!—
Hark, was that a robin singing?
When's the next train out of town?