Anna Seward

Sonnet 35. In April's gilded morn when south winds blow

        SPRING.

In April's gilded morn when south winds blow,
    And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown,
    Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown,
    The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe,
Then, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show
    Their palely-yellowing flowers;—to the moist Sun
    Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown,
    Plighted to riper May;—and lavish flow
The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air.
    O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling
    Avarice, and pride.—Thro' her now blooming sphere
Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring
    To Him, who gives frail Man's appointed time
    These cheering hours of promise, and of prime.