WARBLE me now, for joy of Lilac-time,
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Natures sake, and sweet lifes sakeand
deaths the same as lifes,
Souvenirs of earliest summerbirds eggs, and the first berries;
Gather the welcome signs, (as children, with pebbles, or stringing shells;)
Put in April and Maythe hylas croaking in the pondsthe elastic air,
Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes,
Blue-bird, and darting swallownor forget the high-hole flashing his golden wings,
The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor,
Spiritual, airy insects, humming on gossamer wings,
Shimmer of waters, with fish in themthe cerulean above;
All that is jocund and sparklingthe brooks running,
The maple woods, the crisp February days, and the sugar-making;
The robin, where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted,
With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset,
Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard, building the nest of his mate;
The melted snow of Marchthe willow sending forth its yellow-green sprouts;
For spring-time is here! the summer is here! and what is this in it and from it?
Thou, Soul, unloosendthe restlessness after I know not what;
Come! let us lag here no longerlet us be up and away!
O for another world! O if one could but fly like a bird!
O to escapeto sail forth, as in a ship!
To glide with thee, O Soul, oer all, in all, as a ship oer the waters!
Gathering these hints, these preludesthe blue sky, the grass, the morning
(With additional songsevery spring will I now strike up additional songs,
Nor ever again forget, these tender days, the chants of Death as well as Life;)
The lilac-scent, the bushes, and the dark green, heart-shaped leaves,
Wood violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence,
Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere,
To tally, drenchd with them, tested by them,
Cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes,
My mind henceforth, and all its meditationsmy recitatives,
My land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs,
(Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,)
To grace the bush I loveto sing with the birds,
A warble for joy of Lilac-time.