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None gazeth-save the pale-eyed stars and thee,
What time thou sitt'st in moveless reverie,
Of one who loves like thee this silent scene
been. Thou'rt on the wing, and chilly-finger'd fear Holds
best reason as if ill were near.
Lo! here the gentle Lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun arises in his majesty ; Who doth the world so gloriously behold, That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Foolish prater, what dost thou
I love to see the little Goldfinch pluck
HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove !
Thou messenger of Spring !
And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear ;
Or mark thy rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
From birds among the bowers.
The school-boy, wandering through the wood,
To pull the primrose gay,
And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom
Thou fliest thy vocal vale ; An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green
Thy sky is ever clear ;
No winter in thy year!
O could I fly, I'd fly with thee !
We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.