Your boasted Spring is _not_ a gentle guest.

My patience, no! She's the reverse of that!
Ah! hear her savage roar;
(So often heard before!)
And there (confound it!) goes my new Spring hat.

Alas! what means this stupid somnolence?
Why do my pulses go
So "melancholy slow"?
Why can't I think? why always "on the fence"?

O dews and fogs! O rain and snow and slush!
O various other things!
My soul! what need of wings:
Yes, "Spring's delights" are coming with a rush!

But stay, friend THOMSON--what you say is true:
Here _is_ a nice warm day!
The breezes softly play--
Then why, oh! _why_ then, do I feel so blue?

One "would not die in Spring-time," certainly--
Nor any other season,
For the same reason--
But if one can't eat dinner, why _not_ die?

Is there no panacea for such ills?
Oh! yes, a jolly one:
I find it in the dun!