And heaven puts on the blue of May.
Then sing aloud the gushing rills,
And the full springs, from frost set free,
That, brightly leaping down the hills,
Are just set out to meet the sea.
The year’s departing beauty hides
Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
But in thy sternest form abides
A look of kindly promise yet.
Thou bring’st the hope of those calm skies,