There are so many, many young!
So many, in thy world, O Spring,
And scarcely yet they find a tongue,
Their wants to cry, their joys to sing. There are so many, many young--
Be tender to such tenderness;
And let soft arms be round them flung,
Keep them from blight, from weather stress! White lambs upon the green-lit sward,
And dappled darlings of the kine--
O Spring, have them in watch and ward
And mother them--for all are thine. There are so many, many young!
Thine, too, the wild mouse and her brood
Within a last year's bird's-nest swung--
And all shy litters of the wood! There are so many, many young--
Guard all--guard closeliest this year's nest;
Oh, guard, for Joy, the songs unsung
Within the thrush's speckled breast!