If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a read more

If there comes a little thaw,
Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud
In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring."

The spring's already at the gate
With looks my care beguiling;
The country round appeareth straight
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The spring's already at the gate
With looks my care beguiling;
The country round appeareth straight
A flower-garden smiling.

Gentle Spring!--in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart said,
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Gentle Spring!--in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart said,
And thou,--makest the sad heart gay.

They know who keep a broken tryst,
Till something from the Spring be missed
We have not read more

They know who keep a broken tryst,
Till something from the Spring be missed
We have not truly known the Spring.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
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I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.

The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night
With comfort are downward gazing.

The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night
With comfort are downward gazing.

Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year.
. . read more

Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year.
. . . .
The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow.

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent read more

The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness.