“ Beneath the white-leaved boughs as thou art lying Hear’st thou the piping of the distant wind ? See’st thou the silent clouds above thee flying, In their thin veils of vapour soft enshrined ? See’st how on earth Death lays his chilly hand ? And lo ! both wood and plain are shorn and bare ; Winter is round thee, winter holds the land, And thy heart freezes with the frozen air. Sudden around thee white flakes swiftly falling Lay their pale faces where the grass should be, And in a listless mood thy voice will murmur, ’Tis not a snow shower shaken from the tree ? ’Tis not a snow shower from the boughs descending, Soon thou hast noted this with joyous fear, Spring’s fragrant blossoms are they, perfume lending, Whispering soft raillery in thy charmèd ear. What magic spell is round me, sweet ! enthralling ! Winter is gone and in her place comes May, Snow turns to blossom, Spring’s young voice is calling, Love in my heart blooms fresh, this changeful day.”