Song II Thyrsis, when we parted, swore Ere the spring he would return. Ah, what means yon violet flower, And the buds that deck the thorn? 'Twas the lark that upward sprung! 'Twas the nightingale that sung! Idle notes, untimely green, Why such unavailing haste? Western gales and skies serene Prove not always winter past. Cease my doubts, my fears to move; Spare the honour of my love. 