Classic Poem

Loud roaring Winter now is o'er,
 And Spring returns with fragrance sweet;
The Bee sips nectar from each flow'r,
 And frisking lambs on hillocks bleat;

The little birds chant on each bough,
 And warbling Larks, ascending, sing,
Chearful, amid the sun's bright glow,
 They sweep around with sportive wing.

How pleasant, now, abroad to rove,
 To view the fruit-trees as they bloom;
To pull the flow'rs that deck each grove,
 Or wander thro' the yellow broom.

Yet midst the pleasures we enjoy,
 What painful cares harass our breast,
Ah! were we freed from this annoy,
 How peaceful calm our minds would rest.

The shady bow'rs, the waving woods,
 With seeming joy we may explore;
Stand lift'ning to the falling floods,
 Yet still that weight increaseth more.

Oh! when will come that happy day,
 When all-perplexing care will fly?
Ne'er till we pass the narrow way ,
 And dart triumphant thro' the sky.