The spirit of the Spring

As I went down to Taunton Town,

Pondering thoughts of pain,

The very spirit of the Spring

Came glancing up the lane.

Violet eyes soft and wise,

A mien of matchless grace,

Fluttering feet that skimmed the street

Like swallows in the chase.

Upon her arm of moulded charm

A maund of nodding flowers,

A radiant crew, all drenched with dew

From Quantock's breezy bowers.

Primroses, violets,

Into my heart they shone;

Till in their gleam of golden joy

All my grief was gone.