How I have watched thy coming, Spring,
  From back in March, thy first-born day,
When smiles, all meaningless and strange,
  Would twist thy face and pass away;
Such as will cross the faces of
Our babes before they grow to love,
  Or wonder at the new-made light -
To this, thy great, all-smiling hour,
  When thou hast soul and sight.

How I have waited for this day,
  When thou, sweet Spring, art three weeks old;
And I can hear that strange, sweet voice,
  To seal the wonder of thy world;
That lifts the heart of old and young
To sing an echo to that song
  Which cries 'cuckoo5 in every grove;
When I, who did but smile before
  Must laugh outright for love.