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Behold! the radiant Spring,In splendour decked anew,Down from her heaven of blueReturns on sunlit wing:The zephyrs of her trainIn fleecy clouds disport,And birds to greet her reignSummon their silvan court.

And here in street and squareThe prisoned trees contestHer favour with the best,To robe themselves full fair:And forth their buds provoke,Forgetting winter brown,And all the mire and smokeThat wrapped the dingy town.

Now he that loves indeedHis pleasure must awake,Lest any pleasure takeIts flight, and he not heed;For of his few short yearsAnother now invitesHis hungry soul, and cheersHis life with new delights.

And who loves Nature moreThan he, whose painful artHas taught and skilled his heartTo read her skill and lore?Whose spirit leaps more high,Plucking the pale primrose,Than his whose feet must flyThe pasture where it grows?

One long in city pentForgets, or must complain:But think not I can stainMy heaven with discontent;Nor wallow with that sad,Backsliding herd, who cryThat Truth must make man bad,And pleasure is a lie.

Rather while Reason livesTo mark me from the beast,I'll teach her serve at leastTo heal the wound she gives:Nor need she strain her powersBeyond a common flight,To make the passing hoursHappy from morn till night.

Since health our toil rewards,And strength is labour's prize,I hate not, nor despiseThe work my lot accords;Nor fret with fears unkindThe tender joys, that blessMy hard-won peace of mind,In hours of idleness.

Then what charm companyCan give, know I,--if wineGo round, or throats combineTo set dumb music free.Or deep in wintertideWhen winds without make moan,I love my own firesideNot least when most alone.

Then oft I turn the pageIn which our country's name,Spoiling the Greek of fame,Shall sound in every age:Or some Terentian playRenew, whose excellentAdjusted folds betrayHow once Menander went.

Or if grave study suitThe yet unwearied brain,Plato can teach again,And Socrates dispute;Till fancy in a dreamConfront their souls with mine,Crowning the mind supreme,And her delights divine.

While pleasure yet can bePleasant, and fancy sweet,I bid all care retreatFrom my philosophy;Which, when I come to tryYour simpler life, will find,I doubt not, joys to vieWith those I leave behind.