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 in 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.