To the old tiresome tune?
Not we who saw pale sunshine on the beeches
Only this afternoon;
Who saw the snowdrops frail in woodland hollows,
Who heard the building rooks
Herald a time of flowers and skimming swallows,
Green fields and brawling brooks!
Nay, pledge anew, Septimius, such gages
Of May-time's radiant rout
Till, as becometh fishermen and sages,