'Tis sweet, in the green Spring,To gaze upon the wakening fields around; Birds in the thicket sing,Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground; A thousand odours rise,Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.
Shadowy, and close, and cool,The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook; For ever fresh and full,Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook; And the soft herbage seemsSpread for a place of banquets and of dreams.
Thou, who alone art fair,And whom alone I love, art far away. Unless thy smile be there,It makes me sad to see the earth so gay; I care not if the trainOf leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again.
MARY MAGDALEN.°