Spring now beckons, the land in Winter’s grasp;

That cold curmudgeon reveling in snow,

Not knowing that warm breath will soon unclasp

The icy grip that still a world enfolds.

At her sweet smile alone stern ice did cry

Repentant for dear life lost to its shards,

While songsters sang in buoyant springtime choirs

To herald love’s return to fields and glades.

But yet no joy for me at Winter’s ruin,

No heart to leap at early blossoms seen,

No wonder at the trees in buds festooned

Or yet the heathland burgeoning in green,

For now of spring my heart shall e’er contest;

As life returned, I laid my love to rest.