Spring

O Thou who passes thro’ our vallies in
Thy Chariot of the Sun,
Crown’d with the beams of the golden light,
O Thou who tears from the wild roses,
Come and make them delightful.

Guide our lonely hearts
With sweet, musical lark’s song,
So refresh every solitary valley
With happiness prolonged.

Let the Spirit in the blushing morn
Renew its gentle requiem,
And let thy mighty breezes bring
To all the troubled souls beloved springs.

Thou earth-spirit, enter into me,
Fill my heart with thy heat,
And I will blossom
When thou dost come again,
When thou dost come again.

• William Blake