Book II ——♦—— Spring-Time.
Now that the Winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or calls an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbèd earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the glad swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee;
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring;
And valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array,
Welcome the coming of the longed-for May.
—Thomas Carew.
'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation.
Even mountains, vales,
And forests, seem impatient to demand
The promised sweetness. Man superior walks
Amid the glad creation, musing praise,
And looking lively gratitude.
—Thomson.