The primrose bud, thy early pledge,
Sprouts ’neath each woodland tree,
And violets under every hedge
Prepare a seat for thee:
As maids just meeting woman’s bloom
Feel love’s delicious strife,
So Nature warms to find thee come,
And kindles into life.
Through hedge-row leaves, in drifted heaps
Left by the stormy blast,
The little hopeful blossom peeps,
And tells of winter past:
A few leaves flutter from the woods,
That hung the season through,
Leaving their place for swelling buds
To spread their leaves anew.
’Mong withered grass upon the plain,
That lent the blast a voice,
The tender green appears again,
And creeping things rejoice;
Each warm bank shines with early flowers,
Where oft a lonely bee
Drones, venturing on in sunny hours,
Its humming song to thee.
The birds are busy on the wing,
The fish play in the stream;
And many a hasty curdled ring
Crimps round the leaping bream;
The buds unfold to leaves apace,
Along the hedge-row bowers,
And many a child with rosy face
Is seeking after flowers.
The soft wind fans the violet blue,
Its opening sweets to share,
And infant breezes, waked anew,
Play in the maidens’ hair—
Maidens that freshen with thy flowers,
To charm the gentle swain,
And dally, in their milking hours,
With lovers’ vows again.
Bright dews illume the grassy plain,
Sweet messengers of morn,
And drops hang glistening after rain
Like gems on every thorn;
What though the grass is moist and rank
Where dews fall from the tree,
The creeping sun smiles on the bank
And warms a seat for thee.
The eager morning earlier wakes
To glad thy fond desires,
And oft its rosy bed forsakes
Ere night’s pale moon retires;
Sweet shalt thou feel the morning sun
To warm thy dewy breast,
And chase the chill mist’s purple dun
That lingers in the west.
Her dresses Nature gladly trims,
To hail thee as her queen,
And soon shall fold thy lovely limbs
In modest garb of green:
Each day shall like a lover come
Some gifts with thee to share,
And swarms of flowers shall quickly bloom
To dress thy golden hair.
All life and beauty warm and smile
Thy lovely face to see,
And many a hopeful hour beguile
In seeking joys with thee;
The sweetest hours that ever come
Are those which thou dost bring,
And sure the fairest flowers that bloom
Are partners of the Spring.
I’ve met the Winter’s biting breath
In nature’s wild retreat,
When Silence listens as in death,
And thought its wildness sweet;
And I have loved the Winter’s calm
When frost has left the plain,
When suns that morning waken’d warm
Left eve to freeze again.