Spring.

It is the courier of the Seasons come,
September's squire, with dreamy gusts and gleams,
Who posts a vision round the changing sphere,
An ancient meaning in his lovely eyes.
Ah! how the freshness of his coming strews
A charm on all things now, as in a dream
We couch alone together, love, and hark,
Like dewy echoes from a faery world,
The sweet wood-pigeons in the green leaves coo,
Delicate lovers soft as a girl's heart.
And tender as the airs that by the river
Move among the roses.