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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355469" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet VIII. To Spring</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355469" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">AGAIN the wood and long-withdrawing vale<br>In many a tint of tender green are drest,<br>Where the young leaves, unfolding, scarce conceal<br>Beneath their early shade, the half-form'd nest<br>Of finch or woodlark; and the primrose pale,<br>And lavish cowslip, wildly scatter'd round,<br>Give their sweet spirits to the sighing gale.<br>Ah! season of delight!--could aught be found<br>To soothe awhile the tortured bosom's pain,<br>Of sorrow's rankling shaft to cure the wound,<br>And bring life's first delusions once again,<br>'Twere surely met in thee!--thy prospect fair,<br>Thy sounds of harmony, thy balmy air,<br>Have power to cure all sadness--but despair.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Charlotte+Smith">Charlotte Smith</a></strong></div>

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