Spring on the Hill is sweeter far

Than springs before or after are.

The time will come, for time's old reason,

When spring will be - another season.

Remember then, remember well,

The curving paths, the chapel bell,

And think of mornings when the sun

Lighted your windows one by one;

Of how the trees arched overhead

To shade the Row; how shadows spread

A dappled pattern on the grass

Where you went by with books to class.

Call back the memories you made

Of where you lived and loved and played

Four Mays, four Aprils, and four Junes,

And countless drowsy afternoons.

Remember most of all the trees,

And then their murmuring in the breeze;

The ivy by the window stirring;

The mower's hard impatient whirring;

The green sweet smell of grass and sun;

The roads that like a ribbon run . . .

Remember any April day,

And many a moonlit night, and say,

Spring on the Hill is sweeter far

Than springs before or after are."