Classic Poem

Winter is passing. The inconstant sun--
Neglectful lover, therefore doubly dear--
Kisses the stern, white faces of the hills,
Melting their hearts to tenderness again;
Kisses the earth, still shiv'ring 'neath its shroud,
And whispers it of blossoms to be born.
Kisses the boughs and lures the fresh young leaves,
Spring's verdant heralds, from their hiding place;
Kisses the trees and tells them of bright birds
Seeking new homes for merry families.

Winter is passing. The inconstant sun--
Neglectful lover, therefore doubly dear--
Enters the hearts of long despondent men,
Bidding them smile and be consoled again;
Enters their souls and whispers them of God,
Of distant homes and friends that pray for them;
Enters our cabins and dispels the gloom
Of soundless days and never-ending nights;
Enters our eyes and bids us rise and see
Winter's interment, mourn'd by laughing Spring.