Spring Returns.
Now that wild Winter’s frenzied blasts have blown
Their last, loud roar;
And frost and snow and bitterness have flown
Away once more:
Now is it time for lusty Spring
To sport
Amidst long-hibernated thought
And bring
Its happy urgency, so long unknown.
Fresh flowerlets on every side appear
To flaunt their plumes
In light abandon, now that they need fear
Not Winter’s glooms:
And fledgelings and young creatures wake
To see
Around them charmed felicity
Now make
The world so pleasant, that was so severe.
Innocent love, in Spring, absorbs the hearts
Of man and maid;
In many secludedly private parts
Sweet games are played
As scalds the hot blood in their veins
Still more;
Nor he nor her thinks to be sure,
But strains
To reach perfection through romantic arts.
Of the four Seasons comprising the year
Winter is crude;
Plague-smitten Autumn is saddest, I fear;
Rich Summer good:
But Spring’s eternal enchantments
Must be
Adjudged far better than these three.
Spring lends
The Earth a loveliness beyond compare.
