SPIRIT, that from the breathing south,
     Art wafted hither, on dewy wing,
          By the softened light, of that sunny eye,
          And that voice, of wild-wood melody,
     And those golden tresses, wantoning,
And the perfumed breath, of that balmy mouth,
          We know thee, Spirit of Spring,
Spirit of beauty, these thy charms, Spirit of Spring.

Spirit of Spring, thou comest to 'wake,
     The slumbering energies of earth,
          The zephyr's breath, to thee, we owe,
          Thine is the streamlet's silver flow,
     And thine, the gentle floweret's birth;
And their silence, hark! the wild birds break,
          For thy welcome, Spirit of Spring.

Spirit of Spring, when the cheek is pale,
     There is health, in thy balmy air,
          And peace, in that brow of beaming bright,
          And joy, in that eye of sunny light;
     And golden hope, in that flowing hair;
Oh! that such influence e'er should fail,
          For a moment, Spirit of Spring,
Spirit of health, peace, joy, and hope, Spirit of Spring.

Yet fail it must, for it comes of earth,
And it may not shame its place of birth,
Where the best can bloom, but a single day,
And the fairest, is first to fade away.

But oh! there's a changeless world above,
A world of peace, and joy, and love,
     Where, gathered from the tomb,
The holy hopes, that earth has crost,
And the friends, so dear, we have loved and lost,
     Shall enjoy immortal bloom.

Who will not watch, and strive, and pray,
That his longing soul may soar away,
     On faith's untiring wing,
To join the throng, of saints in light,
In that world, forever fair and bright,
     Of endless, cloudless, Spring.

1833.

Project Canterbury