All Nature Seems At Work. Slugs Leave Their Lair - The Bees Are Stirring - Birds Are On The Wing - And Winter Slumbering In The Open Air, Wears On His Smiling Face A Dream Of Spring! And I The While, The Sole Unbusy Thing, Nor Honey Make, Nor Pair, Nor Build, Nor Sing. Yet Well I Ken The Banks Where Amaranths Blow, Have Traced The Fount Whence Streams Of Nectar Flow. Bloom, O Ye Amaranths! Bloom For Whom Ye May, For Me Ye Bloom Not! Glide, Rich Streams, Away! With Lips Unbrightened, Wreathless Brow, I Stroll: And Would You Learn The Spells That Drowse My Soul? Work Without Hope Draws Nectar In A Sieve, And Hope Without An Object Cannot Live.