Creep slowly up the willow-wand,
Young leaves! and, in your lightness,
Teach us that spirits which despond
May wear their own pure brightness.
Into new sweetness slowly dip,
O May!--advance; yet linger:
Nor let the ring too swiftly slip
Down that new-plighted finger.
Thy bursting blooms, O spring, retard!
While thus thy raptures press on,
How many a joy is lost, or marred
How many a lovely lesson!
For each new sweet thou giv'st us, those
Which first we loved are taken:
In death their eyes must violets close
Before the rose can waken.
Ye woods, with ice-threads tingling late,
Where late was heard the robin,
Your chants that hour but antedate
When autumn winds are sobbing!
Ye gummy buds, in silken sheath
Hang back, content to glisten!
Hold in, O earth, thy charmèd breath!
Thou air, be still, and listen!
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