Riding adown the country lanes
— — One day in spring,
Heavy at heart with all the pains
— Of man's imagining: —

The mist was not yet melted quite
— — Into the sky:
The small round sun was dazzling white,
— The merry larks sang high:

The grassy northern slopes were laid
— — In sparkling dew,
Out of the slow-retreating shade
— Turning from sleep anew:

Deep in the sunny vale a burn
— — Ran with the lane,
O'erhung with ivy, moss and fern
— It laughed in joyful strain:

And primroses shot long and lush
— — Their cluster'd cream:
Robin and wren and amorous thrush
— Carol'd above the stream:

The stillness of the lenten air
— — Call'd into sound
The motions of all life that were
— In field and farm around:

So fair it was, so sweet and bright,
— — The jocund Spring
Awoke in me the old delight
— Of man's imagining,

Riding adown the country lanes:
— — The larks sang high. —
O heart! for all thy griefs and pains
— Thou shalt be loth to die.