'Tis dark and dreary winter time, The snow is on the ground; No roses trail, no woodbines climb, No poppies flaunt around.
The earth is hard, the trees are bare, The frozen robin drops; The wind is whistling everywhere; The crystal brooklet stops; But I have found a grassy mound, A green and shelter'd spot, And there peeps up a primrose cup, With blue "Forget-me-not." Oh! great to me the joy to see The spring-buds opening now; To find the leaves that May-day weaves, On old December's brow.
They say the world does much to make The heart a frosted thing,— That selfish Age will kill and break The garlands of our spring,— That stark and cold, we wail and sigh When wintry snows begin,— That all Hope's lovely blossoms die, And chilling winds set in. But let me pray, that come what may To desolate this breast, Some wild flower's bloom will yet illume, And be its angel guest; For who would live when Life could give No feeling touch'd with youth,— No May-day gleams to light with dreams December's freezing truth?
