To Spring

O thou who passest thro’ our vallies in
Thy Chariot of the Sun,
Thou who so oft hast thy way
In frugal rain and change,
Whose soft embrace awakens all,
With the blossoms of thy love!

The flowers in their prayer
Seek Thy fragrant breath,
The winds of cool, brief slumber,
Reviving slumber, wrought
From solid, nourishing earth;
And the rustle of the boughs
To a gentle song doth turn.

The cracked woods, on thy way
Stand limned in full and green;
Bright Meadows, each steep hath
A gleaning of Thine approval!
With Thee, dear Spring, I long to rest,
With every nook and glade!

• William Hazlitt