Classic Poem

I MPURPLING Heav'n's blue vault with genial rays
Sweet Spring returns: once more I love to meet
The swain on some tall mountain's airy seat,
When Morning first her crimson blush displays:
Once more, ye Groves, in whose romantic ways.
So oft I roam'd, I come with hallow'd feet,
To pour my numbers in your wild retreat,
Responsive to the Blackbird's echoing lays.
Yet some there are, who, bent on slavish gain,
Can look on this fair change with careless eyes,
And see unmov'd new flow'rets paint the plain:
For me in vain no vernal sun shall rise;
My heart still beats to hear the warbling train,
The verdant fields to view, and azure skies.