I FEEL newer life in every gale; The winds, that fan the flowers, And with their welcome breathings fill the sail, Tell of serener hours-- Of hours that glide unfelt away beneath the sky of May. The spirit of the gentle south-wind calls From his blue throne of air, And where his whispering voice in music falls, Beauty is budding there; The bright ones of the valley break Their slumbers, and awake. The waving verdue rolls along the plain, And the wide forest weaves, To welcome back its playful mates again, A canopy of leaves; And from its darkening shadow floats A gush of trembling notes. Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May; The tresses of the woods With the light dallying of the west-wind play; And the full-brimming floods, As gladly to their goal they run, Hail the returning sun.
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