Dim light of violets; while fresh perfume
From every budding twig doth overflow?
Such world a song can build of shivering air—
Earth’s miracles unfolding everywhere.
III.
Singeth the dreamy nightingale of love,
Unsevered still the thrush from Paradise,
The lark’s swift aspiration to the skies
Is faith that sees in perfect light above;
And type doth seem spring’s blue-winged herald’s song