Who, over-fearful lest she lose the right
To ripple to the chord of Spring’s full harmony,
Doth harden at her heart
And catch the song a prisoner to herself;
To loosen only at the wooing kiss
Of youthful Winter’s sun,
And fill the barren waste with phantom spring.
Or, passing on to autumn, consider this apostrophe to a fallen leaf:
Ah, paled and faded leaf of spring agone,
Whither goest thou? Art speeding