The winter had been bitter cold,
Yet still gave way to spring.
Anticipating the untold
And ev’ry lively fling.

Of eager mists and marigolds,
The winds would think at length.
In majesty the hilly folds
Shone sunny, golden plinths.

Still Silence greeted Morning, bold
Not fearing, he, the sting.
For Winter had been careless, cold
And murdered everything.