The clear and sun-lit sky, dark clouds are seen no more.
In woody dells, by shallow brooks that stand,
The modest violet, and primrose pale,
(Like youth just bursting into life,) expand,
And cast their perfumes down the dewy vale,
Till laden seems each bland, yet searching gale
That fans the cheek with odours of the Spring.
All living nature rushes to inhale:
As if this universal blossoming
Too soon would fade away, or instantly take wing.