Classic Poem

But haste we! — 'Tis that merry time of year,
Once more brought round upon our whirling sphere,
(The days of darkness and of snow gone past,
Of chilly sunbeams and the freezing blast),
When eager skylarks at the gate of morn
Sing, while the human sower of the corn
Plods his brown field below; the noisy rooks
Hold council in the grove-top; shelter'd nooks
Bring forth young primroses and violets,
The woodland swarms with buds, the ash-tree sets
Dark lace upon his bough, with tenderest green
The larch-spray tufted, pallid leaflets seen
Unfolded and uncrumpling day by day.
Nigh Croghan Hall the herons lean and gray
Hover and float upon those wide-spread wings
Around their lofty cradles, with the Spring's
Breath rocking slowly; braird is pushing through;
The clever mavis and the soft cuckoo
Untiring sing their olden songs anew.