Hasten, O love, do come; the Spring is not completed,
Unless thou be a part of its glad feast and song;
The buds, awaking, wonder, why they are not greeted
By thee, to whom their dreams went out all winter long.
The sky, the sun, the clouds, the earth, the trees, the flowers,
They all do something lack, thou canst alone impart;
Help us fulfill the office of these holiest hours,
Come, put our heart once more in tune with nature’s heart.
Why should the year’s young bloom, that fades so soon, be wasted?
Why all this music die, forgotten, on the air?
’Twere pity to let pass the cup of cups untasted;
Wine is not lover’s wine but what two lovers share.
by Geerhardus Vos