They tell me on the morrow I must leave br This winter eyrie for a southern flight br And truth to tell I tremble with delight br At thought of such unheralded reprieve. br br E'er have I known December in a weave br Of blanched crystal, when, thrice one short night br Packed full with magic, and O blissful sight! br N'er May so warmly doth for April grieve. br br To in a breath's space wish the winter through br And lo, to see it fading! Where, oh, where br Is caract could endow this princely boon? br br Yet I have found it and shall shortly view br The lush high grasses, shortly see in air br Gay birds and hear the bees make heavy droon.