The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
T'was Spring, t'was Summer, all was gay Now Autumn bears a cloud brow The flowers of Spring are swept way And Summer fruits desert the bough
The insect-youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon!
From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take.
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