Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
⁠     When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;⁠     
⁠     ⁠Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
⁠     ⁠The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
⁠     ⁠The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
⁠     ⁠A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
⁠     ⁠Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
⁠     ⁠Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.