Midwinter, but the gracious skies are blue,
Save where the apple-green horizon line
Glistens between the interlacings fine
Of dark elm branches. Soft winds wander through
The tufts of meadow grasses gaunt and few,
And golden-tipped the cloudy willows shine
Along the far-off brooks. Our hearts divine
Old Winter sleeps and smiles, as sleepers do,
Dreaming of winsome Spring. May all sweet dreams come true!