From "May Day" by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
For thou, O Spring! can renovate
all that high God did first create.
Be still his arm and architect,
rebuild the ruin, mend defect;
chemist to vamp old worlds with new,
coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue,
new-tint the plumage of the birds
and slough decay from grazing herds,
sweep ruins from the scarped mountain,
cleanse the torrent at the fountain,
purge alpine air by towns defiled,
bring to fair mother fairer child,
not less renew the heart and brain,
scatter the sloth, wash out the stain,
make the aged eye sun-clear,
to parting soul bring grandeur near.
Under gentle types, my Spring
masks the might of Nature's king,
an energy that searches thorough
from Chaos to the dawning morrow;
into all our human plight,
the soul's pilgrimage and flight;
in city or in solitude,
step by step, lifts bad to good,
without halting, without rest,
lifting better up to best;
planting seeds of knowledge pure,
through earth to ripen, through heaven endure.