WARBLE me now, for joy of Lilac-time, Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Natureâ€™s sake, and sweet lifeâ€™s sakeâ€”and deathâ€™s the same as lifeâ€™s, Souvenirs of earliest summerâ€”birdsâ€™ eggs, and the first berries; Gather the welcome signs, (as children, with pebbles, or stringing shells;) Put in April and Mayâ€”the hylas croaking in the pondsâ€”the elastic air, Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes, Blue-bird, and darting swallowâ€”nor forget the high-hole flashing his golden wings, The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor, Spiritual, airy insects, humming on gossamer wings, Shimmer of waters, with fish in themâ€”the cerulean above; All that is jocund and sparklingâ€”the brooks running, The maple woods, the crisp February days, and the sugar-making; The robin, where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted, With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset, Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard, building the nest of his mate; The melted snow of Marchâ€”the willow sending forth its yellow-green sprouts; â€”For spring-time is here! the summer is here! and what is this in it and from it? Thou, Soul, unloosenâ€™dâ€”the restlessness after I know not what; Come! let us lag here no longerâ€”let us be up and away! O for another world! O if one could but fly like a bird! O to escapeâ€”to sail forth, as in a ship! To glide with thee, O Soul, oâ€™er all, in all, as a ship oâ€™er the waters! â€”Gathering these hints, these preludesâ€”the blue sky, the grass, the morning drops of dew; (With additional songsâ€”every spring will I now strike up additional songs, Nor ever again forget, these tender days, the chants of Death as well as Life;) The lilac-scent, the bushes, and the dark green, heart-shaped leaves, Wood violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence, Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere, To tally, drenchâ€™d with them, tested by them, Cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes, My mind henceforth, and all its meditationsâ€”my recitatives, My land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs, (Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,) To grace the bush I loveâ€”to sing with the birds, A warble for joy of Lilac-time.