Within my bosom stirs once more to-night
A voice of song. Love, erstwhile slumbering,
Intones his mystery, and the flowers of spring
Relive and bloom. Winter, forbear to smite
My heart's late flowers. Listen! From left and right
Through the green boughs the bulbul's note is heard,
And, wing-clipt and imprisoned, my heart's bird
Flutters against his barriers, wild for flight.