Darling, thy form and fragrance haunt the Spring,
And every wind becomes thy messenger;
To whisperings of thee the woodlands stir,
And waves from out the western ocean bring
A freight of foam that leaves me wondering,
Who know thy bosom is as white. O spur
Of Spring, when every bird's a sorcerer.
And jonquils waken as the linnets sing!

Oh! Craig! it seems that Spring's transmuting word
Should turn each lifted flower to a bird.
Till all should flutter to thee where thou art;
Or else that every blossom should attain
The morning linnet's gift of song, and rain
A fragrant music on thy listening heart.