Robbins Library Digital Projects Announcement: We are currently working on a large-scale migration of the Robbins Library Digital Projects to a new platform. This migration affects The Camelot Project, The Robin Hood Project, The Crusades Project, The Cinderella Bibliography, and Visualizing Chaucer.

While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025. 

If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
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Spring Thoughts

Swift speeds my spirit to the west
    When Spring brings in the hours, -
Those merry girls in blossoms drest
    That laugh through sunswept showers, -
There would I watch earth, sea, and air
    Pour forth their richest dowers.

Oh! let me from the highest peak
    St. Michael's rears on high,
Hail the first gleams that herald Spring
    And first her footsteps spy;
Trust me, 'tis there men soonest feel
    Her warm breath flood the sky!

Blue ripples wash Tintagel's rocks,
    Blue cloudlets float above;
Old memories of "the Flower of Kings"
    On each soft zephyr move,
Or else bold Tristram sighs once more
    For white-armed Iseult's love.

But dearer than these storied scenes
    To me some lonely dell,
Where greenest ferns and golden gorse
    O'erhang a mossy cell,
And all night long by ling'ring stars
    The pixies foot it well.

And far beneath let shining streams
    Flow slumberous to the sea;
Whose lightest murmurs echoing haunt
    Dark rock or quivering tree,
Than which not Fairyland's low lutes
    Yield sweeter witchery!

And then with morn the thrush shall pipe
    His welcome to young May
The blackbird trill a cheery note
    To lengthen out the day,
Till drowsy night from yonder hill
    Come back to stop his lay.

There, where the violets nestle down
    Beneath the thorn-flowers' snow
I'll watch the gleeful swallows' glance,
    Their shadows come and go;
Or pluck the pale pure primrose, first
    Of Spring's wild flowers to blow.

And buried years shall rise once more,
    Once more shall bud life's spring;
I'll think old thoughts, and dream the dreams
    That erst bright hopes could bring,
And loving eyes shall ope that sleep
    Folded 'neath death's dark wing.     M.G.W.