MID-WINTER
On this midwinter afternoon,
When all the sky is cold and grey,
What power can change the white world’s rune
To a midsummer holiday?
The branches of the leafless trees,
Bent in the pathway of the storm,
Give up their buds to orchard bees,
The atmosphere is soft and warm.
And from a thousand rose-hearts, too,
The air delicious fragrance yields;
The birds fly up against the blue,
The Summer ripens on the fields.
Thou art with me! This happy thought,
That all the birds of love unchains
To the white world, has Summer brought
Through warmth of Summer in my veins.