Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –

   When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;

   Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush

Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring

The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;

   The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush

   The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush

With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?

   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning

In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,

   Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,

Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,

   Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.