Renaissance.

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In my ears it is sounding to-day,
The song of the Spring!
How my heart leaps, and urges the blood in swift surges to greet the sweet Spring!
And my pulse, from low undertones rising to thunder-tones, trumpets the challenge of mystical May,
Of witching September, while Winter’s dull ember
Glows fierce in the glamour of Spring,
The passion-fed furnace of Spring!

And my Love, she is tingling to-day
To the touch of the Spring!
How she trembles and thrills as from numberless rills pours the full tide of Spring!
And her eyes are veiled oceans whence amorous potions I quaff in a fury, as one who is fey:
She bears me no malice, but holds up for chalice
Her lips brimming over with Spring,
All ruddied and coralled with Spring.

O my Youth! Let us make holiday,
Give a garland to Spring!
For you flower from her root and your ecstasies shoot from the sources of Spring!
Not a throb gay or tragic her alchemy magic has missed from the cycles of worlds passed away:
Kiss of atoms thick-thronging, sighs of spheres mad with longing,
A Deity burning, a Universe yearning—
All summed up in Spring!

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