To The Spring

Hail to thee, spirit of hope! whom men call Spring;
  Youngest and fairest of the four, who guide
  Our mortal year along Time's rapid tide.
  Spirit of life! the old decrepit earth
  Has heard thy voice, and at a wondrous birth,
  Forth springing from her dark, mysterious womb,
  A thousand germs of light and beauty come.
  Thy breath is on the waters, and they leap
  From their bright winter-woven fetters free;
  Along the shore their sparkling billows sweep,
  And greet thee with a gush of melody.
  The air is full of music, wild and sweet,
  Made by the joyous waving of the trees,
  Wherein a thousand wingèd minstrels meet,
  And by the work-song of the early bees,
  In the white blossoms fondly murmuring,
  And founts, that in the blessèd sunshine sing:
  Hail to thee! maiden with the bright blue eyes!
  And showery robe, all steeped in starry dew;
  Hail to thee! as thou ridest through the skies,
  Upon thy rainbow car of various hue.