Spring

Spring, gentle Spring, the rose's breast unfolding,
Sinks in light dews upon the emerald meadows,
While round his ringlets happy zephyrs playing,
Drink of their fragrance.

O'er all the earth he spreads birth-giving ether,
Waking to life what wintry cold had frozen,
Calling to joy, and budding into being,
Countless creations.

Flora attends him with her smiles of beauty,
Scattering before him violets and roses;
Laughter and love and bliss, and all the graces,
Follow his footsteps.

I too, e'en I, my festal hymn am pouring;
I too have twined a wreath for thee, blest Emma!
"Tis for thy breast—'tis beautiful as thou art—
And as both—fleeting.