February Transformed


Of February I was wont to think

With shudders and a spirit-chilling sense

Of death and barrenness and crumbling mould

Red, freshly turned at the grave’s mouth; that brink

Which in this pale month of the year has hence

Removed full many a loved one from the fold.

Snow was a shroud by day; by night did wink

The cold far stars like funeral dips; immense,

The hills were tombs for coffin’d bones to hold;

Joy, youth and beauty, all to dust did sink.

Till, one fair day, a helpless infant smiled

Into my eyes in her first wondering gaze,

Then this grim month blossomed in daffodil days;

Death fled and spring returned with one small child!