Spring, Dancing

Here April wanders from the rainy Sound— Ethereal Beauty in her shining veil, Like a slow-dancing Sibyl comes with joy. Enraptured we behold her mystic form Gleam through the silvery showers against the hill, And must forever follow on her trace, Enchanted as in some old fairy tale By the enthralling sorceries of the earth. And hark, what music for her pomp is made In the awakening meadows, where the stream Murmurs at twilight when the moon is large, And through the alders in the marshy ground Rises the watery treble of the frogs— The eerie and haunted Pan-pipes of the Spring.