The Return of Proserpine

To welcome her the Mother wakesThe myriad music of her rills,And trims the border of her lakesWith sun-lit daffodils:Softly she counterpanes the leas,With primrose-bloom bedecks the vales,While answering her wooing gales,Come ruby-pied anemones;And as her wintry doubts depart,And brightening hopes foretell the morrow,Such happiness o'erflows her heartThere's left no room for sorrow!