Are They Not All Ministering Spirits

We see them not — we cannot hear
The music of their wing —
Yet know we that they sojourn near,
The Angels of the spring !

They glide along this lovely ground,
When the first violet grows ;
Their graceful hands have just unbound
The zone of yonder rose !

I gather it for thy dear breast,
From stain and shadow free,
That which an Angel's touch hath blest
Is meet, my love, for thee !