Thro' the deep drifts the south wind breathed its way
Down to the earth's green face; the air grew warm,
The snow-drops had regain'd their lonely charm;
The world had melted round them in a day:
My full heart long'd for violets — the blue arch
Of heaven — the blackbird's song — but Nature kept
Her stately order — Vegetation slept —
Nor could I force the unborn sweets of March
Upon a winter's thaw. With eyes that brook'd
A narrower prospect than my fancy craved,
Upon the golden aconites I look'd,
And on the leafless willows as they waved —
And on the broad leaved, half-thaw'd ivy-tod,
That glitter'd, dripping down upon the sod.