Sonnet (Gay trips my nymph along the green retreat)

Gay trips my nymph along the green retreat,
With frolic airy steps; and where they go
Fresh florets rise in twice their wonted glow;
Yellower the sun-beams o’er the meadows fleet,
Or fancies fond possess me. Her light feet,
Glancing along, no other traces show;
They bend not the young grass, that springs to meet
The falling arch of April’s showery bow;
Nor bruise the emmet on her busy way;
And if the downy blow-ball flies its stalk,
So would it fly beneath the gentlest play
Of western winds; when, with his tuneful talk,
Amid new leaves, each songster of the grove
Cheers on her mossy nest his listening love.