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!