In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;
In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
TENNYSON: _Locksley Hall,_ Line 19.
Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come;
And from the bosom of your dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veiled in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
THOMSON: _Seasons, Spring,_ Line 1.
"Come, gentle Spring! ethereal mildness, come!"--
Oh! Thomson, void of rhyme as well as reason,
How could'st thou thus poor human nature hum?
There 's no such season.