To Spring
Othou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Wich in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Vallies hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to the try bright pavillions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet vizsit our clime/
Come o'er the eastern hills,and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us tastle
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy peares
Upon our love -sick band that mourns for thee.
O deck her fourth with the fair fingers,pour
Thy soft kisses on her bossom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee!
William Blake
Othou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Wich in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Vallies hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to the try bright pavillions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet vizsit our clime/
Come o'er the eastern hills,and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us tastle
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy peares
Upon our love -sick band that mourns for thee.
O deck her fourth with the fair fingers,pour
Thy soft kisses on her bossom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee!
William Blake