In February Spring, hitches up her stockings and rushes to work,
Reminded by the woodlark, one of our earliest sweet songsters,
He often begins his note at the beginning of February, cold and gray,
Then Miss thrush comes a little later and joins Mr Woodlark in a duet.
Tomtits are seen hanging on the eaves of barns and thatched roofs,
Sheltering from any severe cold, snow, that has fallen unexpectedly,
Rooks return revisit their breeding trees, and build their new nests,
And the hard, loud voice of the missel-thrush echo's from woods.
If the weather turns mild, the hedge sparrow renews its chirping note,
Turkey-**** strut and gobble over on the heath and water meads,
Partridges begin to woo and pair, the house-pigeon has their young,
While field crickets open their holes, owls hoot, gnats play about.
As a cool watery sun rises, insects swarm, towards the sun blest hedges,
The stone-curlew darts back and forth the frogs croak in the damp grass,
And the raven lays its eggs, and begins the long sit till hatching's done,
About the same time the green woodpecker is heard in the nearby woods.
With natures orchestra playing beautiful music for the many songs,
The elder trees discloses its flower buds, the hazel its catkins,
Young leaves are peeping out of the gooseberry bushes, all is well,
And the winter spite of occasional frost and snow, is over, gone.