Spring-Song

CREEP slowly up the willow-wand,
Young leaves ! and, in your lightness,
Teach us that spirits which despond
May wear their own pure brightness.

Into new sweetness slowly dip,
O May!—advance; yet linger:
Nor let the ring too swiftly slip
Down that new-plighted finger.

Thy bursting blooms, O spring, retard !
While thus thy raptures press on,
How many a joy is lost, or marred
How many a lovely lesson !

For each new sweet thou giv’st us, those
Which first we loved are taken:
In death their eyes must violets close
Before the rose can waken.

Ye woods, with ice-threads tingling late,
Where late was heard the robin,
Your chants that hour but antedate
When autumn winds are sobbing !

Ye gummy buds, in silken sheath
Hang back, content to glisten !
Hold in, O earth, thy charmed breath!
Thou air, be still, and listen!