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Spring has sprung, now poems have begun.
The Spring by Thomas CarewNow that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lostHer snow-white robes, and now no more the frostCandies the grass, or casts an icy creamUpon the silver lake or crystal stream;But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,And makes it tender; gives a sacred birthTo the dead swallow; wakes in hollow treeThe drowsy cuckoo, and the humble-bee.Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bringIn triumph to the world the youthful Spring.The valleys, hills, and woods in rich arrayWelcome the coming of the long’d-for May.Now all things smile, only my love doth lour;Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the powerTo melt that marble ice, which still doth holdHer heart congeal’d, and makes her pity cold.The ox, which lately did for shelter flyInto the stall, doth now securely lieIn open fields; and love no more is madeBy the fireside, but in the cooler shadeAmyntas now doth with his Chloris sleepUnder a sycamore, and all things keepTime with the season; only she doth carryJune in her eyes, in her heart January