Spring it is, spring that’s good to the core of the wood, to the
leaves of groves,
spring that reawakens soil and coaxes seeds to fruitfulness.
It’s then almighty father, Air, marries the earth
and penetrates her with prolific showers, and, their bodies joined
as one, unbridles life’s potential.
The woodlands off the beaten track reverberate with singing
birds
and, right on time, cattle come into their season—
the countryside stands to deliver—and in the warmth of western
breezes
the plains let down their very breasts; a gentle wash infuses
everything
and new growth ventures to believe it’s safe beneath the young,
still unfamiliar sun, and vine shoots fear no southern gales
nor roaring northerlies that scour rain clouds from the sky;
rather, they prompt their buds to boldness and leaves to colour
everywhere. That days were not that different at the dawning
of the world I can easily believe, nor proceeded differently.
Then it was spring, all basked in spring,
and winter’s winds bit their tongue—
and man, begot of rocks, first held up his head,
with creatures loosed to roam woodscape and stars to ramble
skies.
Indeed, how could such tender growth survive vicissitudes
if there were not between the cold and warmth a spell of
dreamlike quiet,
when heaven’s kindness brought its gift of ease?

Vergilius: Georgics (II. 323–345), translated by Peter Fallon

Featured image: detail of a mosaic (late 2nd – early 1st century BC), Musei Capitolini, Centrale Montemartini, Ant. Com. inv. no. 32359. Image source: Wikipedia © Carole Raddato.
For the lyrics of the chirp accompanied song, and the pinned comment of its Swedish-Argentian author, see the description of the YouTube video.
The excerpt is from Virgil, Georgics, Translated by Peter Fallon, with an Introduction and Notes by Elaine Fantham. Oxford, 2006.