Poem by William Blake

To Spring

 Î thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
 Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
 Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
 Which in full choir hails thy approach, Î Spring!

 The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
 Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
 Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
 And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

 Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
 Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
 Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
 Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

 Î deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
 Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
 Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
 Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

1. Songs of Experience. Nurse's Song
2. Songs of Experience. The Little Girl Found
3. A Divine Image
4. Eternity
5. To the Accuser Who Is the God of This World

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