Saturday, February 27, 2016

February Poem



One month is past another is begun
Since merry bells ran out the dying year
And buds of rarest green began to peer
As if impatient for a warmer sun
And though the distant hills are bleak and dun
The virgin snowdrop like a lambent fire
Pierces the cold earth with its green streaked spire
And in dark woods the wandering little one
May find a primrose.


Hartley Coleridge 1842

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