And now all Nature seem’d in love;
The lusty sap began to move;
New juice did stir th’embracing Vines,
And birds had drawn their valentines:
The jealous trout, that low did lie,
Rose at a well-dissembled flie:
There stood my friend, with patient skill,
Attending of his trembling quill.
Already were the eaves possessed
With the swift pilgrims daubed nest:
The groves already did rejoice
In Philomel’s triumphing voice.
The showers were short, the weather mild,
The morning fresh, the evening smil’d.
Joan takes her neat-rubbed pail, and now
She trips to milk the sand-red cow;
Where for some sturdy foot-ball swain,
Joan strokes a sillabub or twain.
The fields and gardens were beset
With tulip, crocus, violet:
And now, though late, the modest rose
Did more then half a blush disclose.
Thus all look’d gay, all full of cheer,
To welcome the new-livery’d year. 


This poem is in the public domain.