To The Spring

Hail to thee, spirit of hope! whom men call Spring; Youngest and fairest of the four, who guide Our mortal year along Time's rapid tide. Spirit of life! the old decrepit earth Has heard thy voice, and at a wondrous birth, Forth springing from her dark, mysterious womb, A thousand germs of light and beauty come. Thy breath is on the waters, and they leap From their bright winter-woven fetters free; Along the shore their sparkling billows sweep, And greet thee with a gush of melody. The air is full of music, wild and sweet, Made by the joyous waving of the trees, Wherein a thousand wingèd minstrels meet, And by the work-song of the early bees, In the white blossoms fondly murmuring, And founts, that in the blessèd sunshine sing: Hail to thee! maiden with the bright blue eyes! And showery robe, all steeped in starry dew; Hail to thee! as thou ridest through the skies, Upon thy rainbow car of various hue.