To Spring

O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down

Through the clear windows of the morning, turn

Thine angel eyes upon our western isle.

Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring！

The hills tell each other, and the listening

Valleys hear；all our longing eyes are turned

Up to thy bright pavilions：issue forth.

And let thy holy feet visit our clime！

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds

Kiss thy perfumed garments；let us taste

Thy morn and evening breath；scatter thy pearls

Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers；pour

Thy soft kisses on her bosom；and put

Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head，

Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee！