The oak and rowan slumber still
Reposing in their frosted bed;
Holding off the shivered chill
Dormant, docile, all but dead.
Skeletons drab against the cloud
Leafless limbs up-reaching high;
Clothed dew, a frozen shroud,
Below them hidden secrets lie.

On the ground the snowdrops burst
Early risers of the year
Contending to be blooming first
A fleetly winter's end is near.
Premature, the sunlight's rays,
Icy stalactites eroding,
Tumbling down a spectral haze
With leafy newborn buds exploding.

A feathered bird-throng fills the skies
With warbled wonder aforetime;
Showing up in sweet surprise
Stepping out before its prime.
And now a season, bright and bold,
Marches on afresh and new
Driving out the drizzled cold
As spring has sprung before her due.