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SPRING
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat, reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
Through kinds of yellow rose tufts,
in that green bowers,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I can't measure;-
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twings spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was cool layers.
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