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WHENCE is it that the air so sudden clears, | |
And all things in a moment turn so mild? | |
Whose breath or beams have got proud Earth with child | |
Of all the treasure that great Natures worth, | |
And makes her every minute to bring forth? | 5 |
How comes it winter is so quite forced hence | |
And locked up under ground? That every sense | |
Hath several objects, trees have got their heads, | |
The fields their coats, that now the shining meads | |
Do boast the paunce, the lily, and the rose, | 10 |
And every flower doth laugh as Zephyr blows? | |
That seas are now more even than the land; | |
The rivers run as smoothèd by his hand; | |
Only their heads are crispèd by his stroke. | |
How plays the yearling, with his brow scarce broke, | 15 |
Now in the open grass, and frisking lambs | |
Make wanton salts about their dry-sucked dams, | |
Who to repair their bags do rob the fields. | |
How ist each bough a several music yields? | |
The lusty throstle, early nightingale, | 20 |
Accord in tune though vary in their tale. | |
The chirping swallow, called forth by the sun, | |
And crested lark, doth his division run. | |
The yellow bees the air with murmur fill, | |
The finches carol and the turtles bill; | 25 |
Whose power is this? What god? Behold a King, | |
Whose presence maketh this perpetual spring, | |
The glories of which spring grow in that bower, | |
And are the marks and beauties of his power. | |
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