IN A FEBRUARY GARDEN
... One rose till after snowtime O'erlooked the sodden grass Now crocuses are twenty, With spear and torch a plenty, To keep our Candlemas. So thin the winter greyness, So light the sleep forlorn, No seventh week uncloses Between the martyr roses, And crocus newly born. All doubt is hushed for ever (Confuted without sound), All ruin featly ended, When bulbs begin their splendid Gay muster ...