Thomas Carew(ea. 1595–1640)
The Spring
N o w that t h e winter's g o n e , t h e earth h a t h lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies 0 the grass, or casts an icy creamices
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth
And makes it tender, gives a sacred birth
T o t h e d e a d s w a l l o w , 5 w a k e s i n h o l l o w tree
T h e d r o w s y c u c k o o a n d t h e h u m b l e b e e .
N o w do a c h o i r of c h i r p i n g m i n s t r e l s bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
T h e valleys, hills, a n d w o o d s i n rich array
W e l c o m e t h e c o m i n g o f t h e l o n g e d - f o r May.
Now all things smile: only my love doth lour, 0frown
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice which still doth hold
Her heart congealed, and makes her pity cold.
T h e ox, w h i c h lately did for s h e l t e r fly
I n t o t h e stall, d o t h n o w s e c u r e l y lie
I n o p e n fields; a n d love n o m o r e i s m a d e
By t h e fireside, b u t in t h e c o o l e r s h a d e :
A m y n t a s n o w d o t h w i t h his C h l o r i s 6 s l e e p
U n d e r a s y c a m o r e , a n d all t h i n g s k e e p
T i m e w i t h t h e s e a s o n . O n l y s h e d o t h carry
J u n e i n h e r e y e s , i n h e r heart January.