Transmitted far as living memory,
Might wait on thee, a silent monitor,
On thee, bright Spring, a bashful little one, 130
Yet to the measure of thy promises
True, as the mightiest; upon thee, sequestered
For meditation, nor inopportune
For social interest such as I have shared.
Peace to the sober matron who shall dip 135
Her pitcher here at early dawn, by me
No longer greeted—to the tottering sire,