Impatient lovers, have you then no care
That summer holds a month divinely fair;
When laughing brooks and softly whispering trees
Chime with the tune of birds and hum of bees;
When color light, and perfume everywhere,
Toss out their sumptuous banners to the air?
Wait, then, for June, and pin the bridal veil
With hyacinths and lilies sweet and pale.
And yet, what matter how the March winds blow?
You make your own fair summer as you go;
Love hath, like death, all seasons for her own,
And in each month sets up her rosy throne.
And I--worn, weary, and oppressed with care,
The dust of travel white upon my hair--
Would give the listless years now left to me
For one swift moment of your ecstasy!