There are so many, many young!

So many, in thy world, O Spring,

And scarcely yet they find a tongue,

Their wants to cry, their joys to sing.

There are so many, many young young—

Be tender to such tenderness;

And let soft arms be round them flung,

Keep them from blight, from weather stress!

White lambs upon the green-lit sward,

And dappled darlings of the kine—

O Spring, have them in watch and ward

And mother them—for all are thine.

There are so many, many young!

Thine, too, the wild mouse and her brood

Within a last year’s bird’s-nest swung—

And all shy litters of the wood!

There are so many, many young young—

Guard all—guard closeliest this year’s nest;

Oh, guard, for Joy, the songs unsung

Within the thrush’s speckled breast!