To Spring
Again the wood, and long with£drawing vale, In many a tint of tender green are dressed,Where the young leaves unfolding scarce conceal,Reneath their early shade the half¡ªformed nest Of finch or wood£lark; and the primorose pale, And lavish cowslip, wildly scattered round,Give their sweet spirits to the sighing gale. Ah! Season of delight! ¡ªcould augght be found To soothe awhile the tortured bosom's pain, Of sorrow's rankling shaft to cure the wound,And bring life's first delusions once again, 'Twere surely met in thee! ¡ªThy prospect fair,Thy sounds of harmony, thy balmy air, Have power to cure all sadness¡ªbut despair.
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