As from deep slumber, and, alive to all
The soft, sweet feelings that from lovely forms
Like odors float, receives them to itself
And fondly garners with a miser’s care,
Lest in the busy intercourse of life,
They, like untended roses, should retain
No fragrant freshness and no dewy bloom.
To me the coming of the Spring is dear
As to the sailor the first wind from land
When, after some long voyage, he descries