The sleet was blowing: where was any sign
Of greening valley, call of mating bird?
Yet, close beside my ear, a voice I heard —
A whisper — " Sweet, choose now your valentine! "
" Nay, wait till skies are softer, airs more fine. "
But still, impetuous, fell that whispered word,
" Choose, choose your valentine! "
What was it stirred,
Like breath of June, this yielding heart of mine?
Sudden, the bleak earth blossomed into bowers
Of bridal beauty: for its wreathing snows,
Wide banks of creamy jessamine and rose, —
While on the pane bloomed out great passionflowers.
And I, — so subtle-sweet Love's whispers are! —
Be sure for choice I did not wander far.