COWSLIPS. 
HOWITT. 
Oh ! fragrant dwellers of the lea, 
When first the wild wood rings 
With each sound of vernal minstrelsy, 
When fresh the green grass springs ! 
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 turn’d, 
With soul athirst for wood and stream, 
From streets that glared and burn’d : 
