Bird-songs and snow-flakes!—There is something jolly
In Nature's mood to-day, and lightly she
Is jesting with the Earth, whom she set free
But lately from a wintry melancholy,
In which for her dear sake he wore the holly.
Flying to meet her on the hilltops, he—
Expecting blossoms her fair gift to be—
Is pelted with a snow-storm, and the folly
Of his desire is twitted from afar.
But he is not a faint-heart lover,—no—
He knows she yet will give the Morning Star
To him for pleasure, and with him will go
Sunward through space where zones of beauty are;
So patiently he takes her gift of snow.