<poem>With a timid grace she had hid her face

In a veil of inwoven wind,

Where shining raindrops, and calls of birds,

And odors of buds awake,

Touched the shepherd's lips with a sense of words,

And he sang, for the Spring's sweet sake,

Till the snow-bound woods and the frosted floods

The chains of their bondage brake.

Then the Spring danced on till her white feet shone

On the slope of the western wave,

And the shepherd rose from his dim repose,

Who had slumbered within the cave;

But every blossom had seen the Spring

And was brimmed with her scent and hue,

And every thrush in his leafy swing

Knew all that the shepherd knew.

Who would care to hear, though he carolled clear,

When the soft spring breezes blew?

</poem>