O HEARKEN, all ye little weeds That lie beneath the snow, （So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low！） The sun hath risen for royal deeds, A valiant¹ wind the vanguard leads； Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds Before ye rise and blow.

    O furry² living things, adream On winter's drowsy³ breast, （How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest！） Arise and follow where a gleam Of wizard gold unbinds the stream, And all the woodland windings⁴ seem With sweet expectance blest.

    My birds, come back！ the hollow sky Is weary for your note. （Sweetthroat, come back！ O liquid, mellow⁵ throat！） Ere May's soft minions⁶ hereward fly, Shame on ye, Laggards⁷, to deny The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye, The tawny⁸, shining coat！