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Felicia Dorothea Hemans - The Voice Of Spring
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I come, I come! ye have called me long;
I come o`er the mountains, with light and song.
Ye may trace my step o`er the waking earth
By the winds which tell of the violet`s birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut-flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains;
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have looked o`er the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,
And the reindeer bounds o`er the pastures free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright, where my step has been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky,
From the night-bird`s lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan`s wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o`er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.
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