January Down West

The snowdrops are awake, in the Gateway of the Year:
Already is the season of the daffodils near.
But the old trees shudder, the infirm trees fear,
For the storm comes rushing through the Gateway of the Year.

Oh, Spring has early spies, and in secret they are here;
And Winter watches well, lest his enemies appear.
And Time looks backward with a misty eye and blear,
And Love looks forward through the Gateway of the Year.
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