Now that the Winter 's gone, the earth hath lost 

 Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost 

 Candies the grass, or calls an icy cream 

 Upon the silver lake or crystal stream ; 

 But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, 

 And makes it tender ; gives a sacred birth 

 To the glad swallow ; wakes in hollow tree 

 The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee ; 

 Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring 

 In triumph to the world the youthful Spring ; 

 And valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array, 

 Welcome the coming of the longed-for May. 



THOMAS CAREW 



'Tis silence all, 

 And pleasing expectation. 



Even mountains, vales, 

 And forests, seem impatient to demand 

 The promised sweetness. Man superior walks 

 Amid the glad creation, musing praise, 

 And looking lively gratitude. 



THOMSON. 



