Ode to Spring

Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire, 
Hoar Winter's blooming child; delightful Spring!
Whose unshorn locks with leaves
And swelling buds are crown'd;

From the green islands of eternal youth,
(Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever springing shade)
Turn, hither turn thy step,
O thou, whose powerful voice

More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed, 
Or Lydian flute, can sooth the madding winds,
And thro' the stormy deep
Breathe thy own tender calm.

Thee, best belov'd! the virgin train await 
With songs and festal rites, and joy to rove
Thy blooming wilds among,
And vales and dewy lawns,

With untir'd feet; and cull thy earliest sweets 
To wave fresh garlands for the glowing brow 
Of him, the favour'd youth 
That prompts their whisper'd sigh.

Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers 
That drop their sweetness on the infant buds,
And silent dews that swell
The milky ear's green stem,

And feed the flowering osier's early shoots; 
And call those winds which thro' the whispering boughs
With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers.

Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn, 
And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale;
And watch with patient eye
Thy fair unfolding charms.

O nymph approach! while yet the temperate sun 
With bashful forehead, thro' the cool moist air
Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chaste kisses wooes

The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil 
Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade
Protects thy modest blooms
From his severer blaze.

Sweet is thy reign, but short: The red dog-star 
Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe
Thy greens, thy flow'rets all,
Remorseless shall destroy.

Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewell; 
For O, not all that Autumn's lap contains,
No summer's rudiest fruits,
Can aught for thee atone,

Fair Spring! whose simplest promise more delights 
Than all their largest wealth, and thro' the heart
Each joy and new-born hope
With softest influence breathes.