'Tis glorious spring; I sit me down,
'Neath the horse-chesnuts blossomed bough;
The wheat looks dark upon the hill,
The men are singing at the plough;
The nettles flower beside the wall;
The daiseys spread upon the green;
The landrail starts his wonted call;
And every where the spring is seen.


The hemlocks in the woodland hedge,
Are mounting to the awthorn bowers;
Where white may comes a certain pledge,
With kingcups, and with daisey flowers;
In which the ewes and lambs abide,
How beautiful the pictures seem,
Sweet gardens stretching far and wide;
The very hedges seem to dream.


The trees in leaf hide every town;
The winter scenes are all away:
And where the fallow lands look brown,
The ploughman whistles half the day,
The heaths turn gold, the furze in flower,
The furze larks chirrup on the wing;
And every day, and every hour,
Comes with the beautiful of spring
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