Spring.

'Let the light rain on her, the sweet Spring, till She teems with greenery in the warm air, Flower-hued, and vocal with the tender joy Of bleating lambs and young birds on the wing.' Thus on the cold hill doth the herdsman pray Beneath his frozen star; the milkmaid, too, As her raw hands take up the milking-pail, And the wind freezes in the red dawn near: — 'Come, Spring, earth's sap, and mount in me until I bloom, a rose of love: smile in mine eyes Till my love from his wintry hill shall see The star of youth, and leap into my arms! O Spring, sweet Spring! but hear my prayer, and I Shall build thee bowers of roses on the hill, And all the summer there with bird and bee Shall joy feast in the beauty of our love!' Thus do they chant the wintry time away In hill and vale, the two who look to when The warmth of beauty takes life's wonder on, And the rose of the flesh shall bloom for them.