Such triumph and triumphant cheer,
As though the aged world anew created were.
Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
And stick’st thy habit full of daisies red?
Seems that thou dost to some high thought aspire,
And some new-found-out bridegroom mean’st to wed:
Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelled—
So never let the spiteful canker waste you,
So never let the heavens with lightning blast you!
Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste you?