This is not strictly Spring poetry (I don't know that the Tagores were!, more monsoon, it seems ) but, it has spring/summer for a setting and for sheer imagery, it outranks most. It is one of my best loved ones; wanted to get the words right before I posted it. I hope everyone will enjoy this.

The Eagle (A Fragment), Alfred Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.