When primroses are out in Spring, br And small, blue violets come between; br When merry birds sing on boughs green, br And rills, as soon as born, must sing; br br When butterflies will make side-leaps, br As though escaped from Nature's hand br Ere perfect quite; and bees will stand br Upon their heads in fragrant deeps; br br When small clouds are so silvery white br Each seems a broken rimmed moon-- br When such things are, this world too soon, br For me, doth wear the veil of night.