Would thy warm heart were human, too,
O spirit of the Spring!
So should thy softest breezes woo
The souls most suffering.
So shouldst thou bid some frolic air
No longer play so light,
But to foul courts and alleys fare,
Full-charged with Spring's delight;
To whisper what a glory fills
The woodslope to the stream,
Where in the dusk the daffodils
Like flakes of sunlight gleam!
Some air that in the sick man's breast
Like a new life should lie;
Or fan the fevered brow to rest,
And with the dying die!