Nothing is as beautiful as Spring
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
| Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush | |
| Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring | |
| The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; | |
| The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush |
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| The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush | |
| With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. |
| What is all this juice and all this joy? | |
| A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning | |
| In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy, |
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| Before it cloud, Christ, Lord, and sour with sinning, | |
| Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy, | |
| Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning. |
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