On Beacon Hill
By C. L. ARMSTRONG
1911

On Beacon Hill the broom is out;
The feathered spring-folk are about
On Beacon Hill.

The feathered spring-folk are about;
The fountains play, the children shout
On Beacon Hill.

The grass is fresh, the flowers bloom;
And delicately shame the broom
On Beacon Hill.

And delicately shame the broom.
So gaudy gay on winter's tomb
On Beacon Hill.

So gaudy gay on winter's tomb,
Yet infant from a new Spring's womb
On Beacon Hill.

Now arm-in-arm, o'er verdant grass
The self -involved lovers pass
On Beacon Hill.

The self-involved lovers pass
A love-lost lad, a radiant lass
On Beacon Hill.

Then, gladly, all your tokens bring
And offer homage to the Spring
On Beacon Hill.

And offer homage to the Spring;
Long let the love of laughter cling
On Beacon Hill.