CLAMBERING up the rocky bank,
Briers and honeysuckles fling
Greenest branches unto air
Fragrant in the early spring:
Streams let loose from winter's thrall
Sparkling thro' the meadows play,
And with silver voices call:
Wherefore must I be away?
Crocuses by sunbeams lit,
Hypaticas of many dyes,
Lose the lover who ador'd them,
Singing sonnets to their eyes,--
I, who know each little nook
Where the early violets grow,
I, who used to hail the snowdrops
Softly blooming through the snow.--
All who used to peep at me
Now unsought, unsung must be.
Every voice of Nature calls me,
Here immur'd must I remain;
Ever in my dreams I whisper,
'When will summer come again?'