And bees to toil, and birds awake to song,
Shall the glad bard be mute in tuneful spring,
And, warm with love and joy, forget to sing?
Translation of Robert Bland.
SPRING.
FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON.
Behold the young, the rosy spring,
Gives to the breeze her scented wing,
While virgin graces, warm with May,
Fling roses o’er her dewy way.