The winter comes; I walk alone,I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their ownThe winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-The coming spring's already come.I never want the Christmas roseTo come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;'Tis but the winter garb of spring.I never want the grass to bloom:The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest comeAnd love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to clingO'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.I love the snow, the crumpling snowThat hangs on everything,
It covers everything belowLike white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,A vast expanse of dazzling light.It is the foliage of the woodsThat winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,Nature's white spurts of the spring.
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