And forth into the fields I went, And Nature's living motion lent The pulse of hope to discontent. I wonder'd at the bounteous hours, The slow result of winter showers: You scarce could see the grass for flowers. I wonder'd, while I paced along: The woods were fill'd so full with song, There seem'd no room for sense of wrong.

Like an Aeolian harp that wakes No certain air, but overtakes Far thought with music that it makes: Such seem'd the whisper at my side: 'What is it thou knowes…

So variously seem'd all things wrought, I marvell'd how the mind was brought To anchor by one gloomy thought; And wherefore rather I made choice To commune wit…

A second voice was at mine ear, A little whisper silver-clear, A murmur, 'Be of better cheer'. As from some blissful neighbourhood, A notice faintly understood…

There never was night that had no morn.

My sun sets to rise again.

There is no sign of leaf or bud, A hush is over everything - Silent as women wait for love, The world is waiting for the spring.