AGAIN the wood and long-withdrawing vale <br />In many a tint of tender green are drest, <br />Where the young leaves, unfolding, scarce conceal <br />Beneath their early shade, the half-form'd nest <br />Of finch or woodlark; and the primrose pale, <br />And lavish cowslip, wildly scatter'd round, <br />Give their sweet spirits to the sighing gale. <br />Ah! season of delight!--could aught be found <br />To soothe awhile the tortured bosom's pain, <br />Of sorrow's rankling shaft to cure the wound, <br />And bring life's first delusions once again, <br />'Twere surely met in thee!--thy prospect fair, <br />Thy sounds of harmony, thy balmy air, <br />Have power to cure all sadness--but despair.<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-viii-to-spring/
