$mtg in §ntm Spring, 
Barry Cornwall, 
^yHEN the wind blows 
In the sweet rose-tree, 
And the cow lows 
On the fragrant lea, 
And the stream flows 
All bright and free, 
’Tis not for thee, ’tis not for me; 
’Tis not for any one here, I trow: 
The gentle wind bloweth, 
The happy cow loweth, 
The merry stream floweth, 
For all below! 
OA, the Spring ! the bountiful Spring l 
She shineth and smileth on every thing ! 
Where come the sheep ? 
To the rich man’s moor. 
Where cometh sleep ? 
To the bed that’s poor. 
