When germs were quickening in the mould,
And sap was rich and leaves were young,
Deep in the fragrant wood a lute,
As old as Time, was newly strung.
Some swift, divine, invisible hand,
From fret to fret, tried all the chords,
Until a tune, supremely sweet,
Was set to immemorial words.
And then the wild bird sought its mate;
The lusty bee a-booming came;
The maples, filled with racy pangs,
Let go their buds' imprisoned flame;
A dreamy mystery veiled the sun;
Keen perfumes stole through glade and grove,
And all the founts of Nature burst
With sudden bubbling streams of love!
Ah! passion, pure as morning dew,
And fresh as breath of mint and thyme!
Impulse of Spring, so new and true!
Essence of innocence and prime!
I bowed my head and stilled my breath
(For it was May and I was young),
While to a tune supremely sweet
Those immemorial words were sung.
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