Candlemas

  o hearken, all ye little weeds     That lie beneath the snow, (So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!)   The sun hath risen for royal deeds,   A valiant wind the vanguard leads;   Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds     Before ye rise and blow.   O furry living things, adream     On Winter’s drowsy breast, (How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest!)   Arise and follow where a gleam   Of wizard gold unbinds the stream,   And all the woodland windings seem     With sweet expectance blest.   My birds, come back! the hollow sky     Is weary for your note. (Sweet-throat, come back! O liquid, mellow throat!)   Ere May’s soft minions hereward fly,   Shame on ye, laggards, to deny   The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye,     The tawny, shining coat!