Cold tears of winter fall from off my sill

As frozen eaves the risen sun derides,

Retreating snows meander into rills

Conceding ground from which fresh blooms arise.

So sweet the perfume in the zephyrs’ arms,

So soft the blush of nascent forest leaves,

Delightful more, idyllic woodland charms,

While vernal songsters revel on the breeze.

‘Tis now as ever thoughts will turn to love

And so of you this primrose promise sings—

The harmonies of angels from above

Whose vestal strains give all life’s spirits wings.

I see you here in each form hope commends…

A world bestirred by love that never ends.