I see, with half-attentive eyes,
The buds and flowers that mark the Spring,
And Nature’s myriad prophecies
Of what the Summer suns will bring.
For every sense I find delight—
The new-wed cushat’s murmurous tones,
Young blossoms bursting into light,
And the rich odour of the cones.
The larch, with tassels purple-pink,
Whispers like distant falling brooks;