Authors:
  • O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
    Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
    Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
    Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

    The hills tell each other, and the listening
    Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
    Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
    And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

    Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
    Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
    Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
    Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.