x.
But day and night, and winter-tide and spring,
Change at thy voice; and when I hear thee sing
I know 'tis May; and when I see thy face
I know 'tis Summer. Thou'rt the youngest Grace,
And all the Muses praise thee evermore.
And there are birds who name thee as they soar;
And some of these,—the best and brightest ones,—
Have guess'd the pangs that pierce me to the core.