Straight through the chill of winter days
As clear as anything,
Through all the murk & misty ways,
I see the coming Spring.
And clear above the noisy swell
Of winter's arctic blast,
I hear the bird notes sweet that tell
Of June days come at last.
Old Winter's ways speak not of rue
To me, things drab and gray
The point the path that leads us to
The flowers of May!
John Kendrick Bangs~Published 1918
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