The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 19, Pages 457-458
BREATHINGS OF SPRING.
What wak'st thou, Spring?—sweet voices in the woods,
And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute;
Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,
The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute,
Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,
Ev'n as our hearts may be.
And the leaves greet thee, Spring!—the joyous leaves,
Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade,
Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,
When thy south-wind hath pierced the whispery shade,
And happy murmurs, running through the grass,
Tell that thy footsteps pass.
And the bright waters—they too hear thy call—
Spring, the Awakener! thou hast burst their sleep;
Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall
Makes melody, and in the forests deep,
Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.
And flowers—the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Colouring the cowslip with the sunny hours
And pencilling the wood-anemone;
Silent they seem—yet each to thoughtful eye
Glows with mute poesy.
