Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid A million buds but stay their blossoming And trustful birds have built their nests amid The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing Till one soft shower from the south shall bid And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of Spring.

For beauty being the best of all we know Sums up the unsearchable and secret aims Of nature.

When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing …

They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing; Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees.

Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song, To show that she is here;

For that mist may break when the sun is high And this soul forget its sorrow And the rose ray of the closing day May promise a brighter morrow.

There is no sign of leaf or bud, A hush is over everything - Silent as women wait for love, The world is waiting for the spring.