Not only the lark but the robin too
( Oh, heart o’ my heart, come into the wood! )
Is singing the air to gladness new
As the breaking bud
And the freshet's flood!
Not only the peeping grass and the scent —
( Oh, love o’ my life, fly unto me here! )
Of violets coming ere April's spent —
But the frog's shrill cheer
And the crow's wild jeer!
Not only the blue, not only the breeze,
( Oh, soul o’ my heart, why tarry so long! )
But sun that is sweeter upon the trees
Than rills that throng
To the brooklet's song!
Oh, heart o’ my heart, oh, heart o’ my love,
( Oh soul o’ my soul, haste unto me, haste! )
For spring is below and God is above —
But all is a waste
Without thee — haste!