Before the blossom

In the tassel-time of spring

Love 's the only song to sing;

Ere the ranks of solid shade

Hide the bluebird's flitting wing,

While in open forest glade

No mysterious sound or thing

Haunt of green has found or made,

Love 's the only song to sing.

Though in May each bush be dressed

Like a bride, and every nest

Learn Love's joyous repetend,

Yet the half-told tale is best

At the budding, -- with its end

Much too secret to be guessed,

And its fancies that attend

April's passion unexpressed.

Love and Nature communing

Gave us Arcady. Still ring --

Vales across and groves among --

Wistful memories, echoing

Pan's far-off and fluty song;

Poet! nothing harsher sing;

Be, like Love and Nature, young,

In the tassel-time of spring.