There are so many, many young!
So many, in thy world, O Spring,
And scarcely yet they find a tongue,
Their wants to cry, their joys to sing.
There are so many, many young young—
Be tender to such tenderness;
And let soft arms be round them flung,
Keep them from blight, from weather stress!
White lambs upon the green-lit sward,
And dappled darlings of the kine—
O Spring, have them in watch and ward
And mother them—for all are thine.
There are so many, many young!
Thine, too, the wild mouse and her brood
Within a last year's bird's-nest swung—
And all shy litters of the wood!
There are so many, many young young—
Guard all—guard closeliest this year's nest;
Oh, guard, for Joy, the songs unsung
Within the thrush's speckled breast!