1.
“Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”
Thou that art in the rocky clefts, my Dove;
Thou that in secret of the stairs dost dwell,
And hidest Thee within Thy stony cell,—
Oh, let me see Thy countenance of love;
Oh, let me hear Thy voice; as from above
The day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Winter is past and gone; the young harts stray
Upon the hills; the turtle in the grove
Anticipates the dawn, heard though unseen
'Mid the dark pine-tree tops and tender green
Of vine and fig-tree; and the lilies bright
Put forth their flowrets from the leafy screen.
And who is she looks forth, as morning light,
Expecting? Rise, my soul, to meet this sight!
