Gone was the lance leaved tree,
Whose darling greens lastly arrive
And are first to depart,
Heralding the turn in all alive.

The winter I found joy 
In the pages of a book 
But now it comes to me
In the babbling of the brook.

In December the bitter wind besieged 
Every inch of barren ground,
Now the days are soon to be
Warm breezes when spring comes around.

Tulips burst forth like missiles
 In Verdant fields of morning dew,
The time of dying is over, rebirth,
A time for everything new.

And here I am
On the eve of spring 
My elation returning 
Much like geese on wing.