FLORAL POESY, 
What can the blessed spring restore 
More gladdening than your charms. 
Bringing the memory once more 
Of lovely fields and farms ! 
Of thickets, breezes, birds, and flowers ; 
Of life’s unfolding prime ; 
Of thoughts as cloudless as the hours ; 
Of souls without a crime. 
Oh! blessed, blessed do ye seem. 
For, even now, I turned 
With soul athirst for wood and stream, 
From streets that glared and burned. 
From the hot town, where mortal care 
His crowded fold doth pen ; 
Where stagnates the polluted air 
In many a sultry den. 
And are ye here ? and are ye here ? 
Drinking the dew like wine, 
’Midst living gales and waters clear, 
And heaven’s unstinted shine. 
I care not that your little life 
Will quickly have run through, 
And the sward with summer children rife 
Keep not a trace of you. 
For again, again, on dewy plain, 
I trust to see you rise, 
When spring renews the wildwood strain, 
And bluer gleam the skies. 
