O HEARKEN, all ye little weeds That lie beneath the snow, （So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low！） The sun hath risen for royal deeds, A valiant wind the vanguard leads； Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds Before ye rise and blow.

    O furry living things, adream On winter's drowsy breast, （How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest！） Arise and follow where a gleam Of wizard gold unbinds the stream, And all the woodland windings seem With sweet expectance blest.

    My birds, come back！ the hollow sky Is weary for your note. （Sweetthroat, come back！ O liquid, mellow throat！） Ere May's soft minions hereward fly, Shame on ye, Laggards, to deny The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye, The tawny, shining coat！