Among the silence of the woods and hills;
Silent to any gladsomeness of sound
With all their Shepherds.
But the gates of Spring
Are opened. Churlish Winter hath given leave
That she should entertain for this one day, 190
Perhaps for many genial days to come,
His guests, and make them jocund. They are pleased,
But most of all the Birds that haunt the flood
With the mild summons; inmates though they be