Nothing is so beautiful as spring -- 
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; 
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush 
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring 
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; 
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush 
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush 
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. 

What is all this juice and all this joy? 
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning 
In Eden garden. -- Have, get, before it cloy, 
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning, 
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy, 
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.