With violets; the woods’ late wintry head
Wide flaming primroses set all on fire,
And his bald trees put on their green attire,
Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.
And now the taller sons, whom Titan warms,
Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds,
Dandled the morning’s childhood in their arms;
And, if they chanced to slip the prouder pines,
The under corylass[[8]] did catch the shines,
To gild their leaves: saw ne’er happier year