  Hark, the spring! She calls With a thousand voices ’Mid the echoing forest halls One great heart rejoices. Hills, where young lambs bound, Whiten o’er with daisies; Flag flowers light the lower ground, Where the old steer grazes. Meadows laugh, flower-gay; Every breeze that passes Waves the seed-cloud’s gleaming gray O’er the greener grasses. O thou spring! be strong, Exquisite newcomer! And the onset baffle long Of advancing summer! —Aubrey de Vere. |
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