Spring has come, and with it rain,
But yester-season's gifts remain.
Still healing sun outlasts it all,
Till fast again comes fatal fall.

...My heart is like the buds of May,
Which yearn for comfort, tucked away:
No wanting soul can know their worth,
Until, from snow, their flowers burst
With vibrant hues and youth unsealed --
That hated winter once concealed,
That hardened bark had sought to hide
-- Now springtime's stem has swift revealed:
Sweet love's abundance multiplied.