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 labourer 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 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!