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Arthur Symons - Winter In Spring
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Winter is over, and the ache of the year 
Quieted into test; 
The torn boughs heal, and the time of the leaf is near, 
And the time of the nest. 

The poor man shivers less by his little hearth, 
He will warm his hands in the sun; 
He thinks there may be friendliness in the earth 
Now the winter is done. 

Winter is over, I see the gentle and strange 
And irresistible spring: 
Where is it I carry winter, that I feel no change 
In anything?
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