Spirit of Spring, thy coverlet of snow
Hath fallen from thee, with its fringe of frost,
And where the river late did overflow
Sway fragile white anemones, wind-tost,
And in the woods stand snowdrops, half asleep,
With drooping heads sweet dreamers so long lost.
Spirit, arise ! for crimson flushes creep
Into the cold grey east, where clouds assemble
To meet the sun : and earth hath ceased to weep.
Her tears tip every blade of grass, and tremble,
Caught in the cup of every flower. O Spring!
I see thee spread thy pinions, they resemble
Large delicate leaves, all silver-veined, that fling
Frail floating shadows on the forest sward;
And all the birds about thee build and sing!