'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings,
Stands up before its mother bright and mild, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems- So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled
To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams, The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove Waxed green-and flowers burst forth like starry beams;-
The grass in the warm sun did start and move, And sea-buds burst under the waves serene:- How many a one, though none be near to love,
Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen In any mirror-or the spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green;-
How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps-and over wide dominions
Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms-the wide world shrinks below, When winter and despondency are past.