Christina G. Rossetti

The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on read more

The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on the air,
Yet take no heed
Of humble lessons we would read.

It's surely summer. for there's a swallow:
Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
The bird race read more

It's surely summer. for there's a swallow:
Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

There goes the swallow,--
Could we but follow!
Hasty swallow, stay,
Point us out read more

There goes the swallow,--
Could we but follow!
Hasty swallow, stay,
Point us out the way;
Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow.

Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there;
My trees were full on songs and flowers and fruit,
Their read more

Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there;
My trees were full on songs and flowers and fruit,
Their branches spread a city to the air.

The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.

The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.