No wail of winds, my yellow-coated friend;
All beauties of the Spring to thee belong,
All bloomy charms and all the scents that lend
A drowsy gladness to the summer hours.
Again I hear swift rivulets descend
The mountain slopes, like children loosed from school;
Again I see the lily on the pool,
And hear the whispered loves of leaves and flowers.
Not only through the golden hours of day,
From early dawn till dusk, melodious sprite,