Sonnet XXIV. Youth's Spring-Tribute

On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear

I lay, and spread your hair on either side,

And see the newborn woodflowers bashful-eyed

Look through the golden tresses here and there.

On these debateable borders of the year

Spring's foot half falters; scarce she yet may know

The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow.

And through her bowers the wind' s way still is clear.

But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day;

So shut your eyes upturned and feel my kiss

Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray,

Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this

Is even the hour of Love's sworn suitservice,

With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.