Spring, step not softly, renovate the sense!
My trembling thoughts unravel into leaves,
With your perfumes the new-born air is dense,
And every tendril to your trellis cleaves.
The world is but a canvas for your brush,
Your palette infinite with every hue;
Your rivulets incite the river’s rush,
And every flower sips your frigid dew.
Waft upward with your winds my dreaming kite,
That bridges longing to your fleeting clouds;
On your fair breezes let my soul take flight;
Release all spirits from their winter shrouds!
And weave, O Spring, your garlands for the brow
Of Him who came to die, that we live now.