Come walk with me along this willowed lane,
— Where, like lost coinage from some miser's store,
— The golden dandelions more and more
Glow, as the warm sun kisses them again!
For this is May! who with a daisy chain
— Leads on the laughing Hours; for now is o'er
— Long winter's trance. No longer rise and roar
His forest-wrenching blasts. The hopeful swain,
Along the furrow, sings behind his team;
— Loud pipes the redbreast — troubadour of spring,
— And vocal all the morning copses ring;
More blue the skies in lucent lakelets gleam;
— And the glad earth, caressed by murmuring showers,
— Wakes like a bride, to deck herself with flowers!