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.