Spring

Again the violet of our early days Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun, And kindles into fragrance at his blaze; The streams, rejoiced that winter’s work is done, Talk of to-morrow’s cowslips, as they run. Wild apple, thou art blushing into bloom! Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn! Wake, buried lily! spirit, quit thy tomb! And thou shade-loving hyacinth, be born! Then, haste, sweet rose! sweet woodbine, hymn the morn, Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly light Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands From sea to sea, while daisies infinite Uplift in praise their glowing hands, O’er every hill that under heaven expands.

Collection: 
English
1801
Ebenezer Elliott
Sub Title: 
III. The Seasons

More from Poet

  • Burns

    A Poet’s Epitaph STOP, mortal! Here thy brother lies,— The poet of the poor. His books were rivers, woods, and skies, The meadow and the moor; His teachers were the torn heart’s wail, The tyrant, and the slave, The street, the factory, the jail, The palace,—and the grave...

  • Corn-Law Hymn

    Lord! call thy pallid angel, The tamer of the strong! And bid him whip with want and woe The champions of the wrong! O, say not thou to ruin’s flood, “Up, sluggard! why so slow?” But alone, let them groan, The lowest of the low; And basely beg the bread they curse, Where millions...

  • Spring

    Again the violet of our early days Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun, And kindles into fragrance at his blaze; The streams, rejoiced that winter’s work is done, Talk of to-morrow’s cowslips, as they run. Wild apple, thou art blushing into bloom! Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed...