Song CXIII. Spring

Look round, my Love! how chang'd the Scene, So late white o'er with Snow; Now 'ray'd in flow'r enamell'd green, How rich the meadows shew?

The Sun creative pow'r re-sumes, And warms the breezy air; The bursting buds expand their blooms, While birds their nests prepare.

The Herds, and Flocks on herbage feed, Sweet Spring renews its pride; The Ice-bound Streams from fetters freed, Now tinkling, roll their tide.

On leafless boughs no candy'd frost In icycles appears; But as in grief, for Winter lost, Dissolving into tears.

Thus sordid senseless Human Kind But mere existence prove; 'Till Beauty's Sunshine ope's the Mind, And melts the Mass to Love.

For spite of Wealth, or Power's controul, Or all the Wise can say, 'Till WOMAN warms the frozen soul, We are but Clods of Clay.