Explore "Ode on the Pleasure Arising from Vicissitude" by Thomas Gray on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A Fragment / Now the golden Morn aloft / Waves her dew-bespangled wing, / With vermeil cheek and whisper soft / She woos the tardy spring; / Till April starts, and calls around / The sleeping fragrance from the ground; / And lightly o'er the living scene / Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance, / Frisking ply their feeble feet; / Forgetful of their wintry trance, / The birds his presence greet; / But chief, the sky-lark warbles high / His trembling thrilling ecstasy / And, lessening from the dazzled sight, / Melts into air and liquid light.