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Beneath these
fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms
on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered
nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!
And
birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last year's
friends together.
One have I marked, the happiest
guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to
Thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding Spirit
here today,
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And
this is thy dominion.
While birds, and
butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of
paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment:
A Life, a Presence like
the Air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too
blest with any one to pair;
Thyself thy own
enjoyment.
Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That
twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in
ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There!
where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body
flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover
him all over.
My dazzled sight he oft deceives,
A Brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from
the cottage eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes,
As if by that exulting strain
He mocked and treated
with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes.
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