Candlemas

O HEARKEN, all ye little weeds

That lie beneath the snow,

(So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!)

The sun hath risen for royal deeds,

A valiant wind the vanguard leads;

Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds

Before ye rise and blow.

O furry living things, adream

On winter’s drowsy breast,

(How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest!)

Arise and follow where a gleam

Of wizard gold unbinds the stream,

And all the woodland windings seem

With sweet expectance blest.

My birds, come back! the hollow sky

Is weary for your note.

(Sweet-throat, come back! O liquid, mellow throat!)

Ere May’s soft minions hereward fly,

Shame on ye, laggards, to deny

The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye,

The tawny, shining coat!