Would you not be in Tryon 
   Now that the spring is here, 
When mocking-birds are praising 
   The fresh, the blossomy year? 

Look -- on the leafy carpet 
   Woven of winter's browns 
Iris and pink azaleas 
   Flutter their gaudy gowns. 

The dogwood spreads white meshes -- 
   So white and light and high -- 
To catch the drifting sunlight 
   Out of the cobalt sky. 

The pointed beech and maple, 
   The pines, dark-tufted, tall, 
Pattern with many colors 
   The mountain's purple wall. 

Hark -- what a rushing torrent 
   Of crystal song falls sheer! 
Would you not be in Tryon 
   Now that the spring is here?