Spring

          The sweet south wind, so long 
Sleeping in other climes, on sunny seas, 
Or dallying gayly with the orange-trees
          In the bright land of song, 
Wakes unto us, and laughingly sweeps by, 
Like a glad spirit of the sunlit sky.

          The laborer at his toil 
Feels on his cheek its dewy kiss, and lifts 
His open brow to catch its fragrant gifts —
          The aromatic spoil 
Borne from the blossoming gardens of the south 
While its faint sweetness lingers round his mouth.

          The bursting buds look up 
To greet the sunlight, while it lingers yet 
On the warm hill-side; and the violet
          Opens its azure cup 
Meekly, and countless wild flowers wake to fling 
Their earliest incense on the gales of Spring.

          The farmer, in his field, 
Draws the rich mould around the tender maize; 
While Hope, bright-pinioned, points to coming days,
          When all his toil shall yield 
An ample harvest, and around his hearth 
There shall be laughing eyes and tones of mirth.

          The reptile that hath lain 
Torpid so long within his wintry tomb, 
Pierces the mould, ascending from its gloom
          Up to the light again; 
And the lithe snake crawls forth from caverns chill, 
To bask as erst upon the sunny hill.

          Continual songs arise 
From universal Nature; birds and streams 
Mingle their voices, and the glad earth seems
          A second Paradise! 
Thrice blessed Spring! thou bearest gifts divine! 
Sunshine, and song, and fragrance, all are thine.

          Nor unto earth alone — 
Thou hast a blessing for the human heart, 
Balm for its wounds and healing for its smart,
          Telling of Winter flown, 
And bringing hope upon thy rainbow wing, 
Type of eternal life, thrice-blessed Spring !