Spring Into a New Style

To Spring

William Blake (1783)

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down

Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,  
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell one another, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d 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 perfumèd garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.

O 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 are bound up for thee.