Classic Poem

COME , Spring, O come;
And loiter not so long
In distant Southern isles,
Or in the glens of Araby the Blest.

Come, Spring, O come;
For I am sick at heart
Of the dull winter's length,
And yearn to see thy cheerful face again.

On the fresh blade
Glistens the rime of morn,
Waiting for thee to come,
And with thy breath exhale it to the skies.

For thee the bud
Its fragile form unfolds;
And opening film by film,
Spreads to the tempting air its leaf of gauze.

The lamb for thee,
Thrilling with young delight,
Skips through the fleecy fold
On the warm slope of many a sunny vale;

While near at hand,
From hedgerows faintly green,
To frequent bleatings shrill,
The newly-mating birds in songs reply.

Then from afar
Once more appear, O Spring,
Breathing most odorous sweets,
With robe of violet and lily crown.

Once more appear,
Enchantress of the world!
Enchantress of the world!
Who with sweet siren voice
Lullest the harsh notes of the wint'ry gale.

So at thy call
All nature shall revive,
And grateful, o'er thy head,
Strew the white blossoms of the early year.