I thought the snow had passed—but yet, alas

It came again last night to gild the grange

And forged for Spring a frosty white impasse,

That she defer her entrance on the stage.

Snow falling fast now still upon more snow,

A veil of white obscuring distant trees;

By final coup for Winter’s grim tableau—

His gelid might cast o’er the nascent green.

Still more to ravage now the buried land;

Surrendered stand stout hedgerows’ warrior pose—

Sweet cherub buds lie iced in cold remand

And lime-green sprigs, frost-bound in grim repose.

So yields the world’s fair grasp of dreams sublime,

Though fate lays siege, hope lingers on in time.