Love, thou art like to a winter day
Gleaming, shining, crisply bright
With frosty eye upon my plight
You hold the heart that I, trusting, lay
At your small feet. Do not crush it, pray!
Dainty fingers hold it tight
But gentle, till winter’s light
Blurs its harsh edge to a soft decay
And spring blooms in your eye
Waking dormant roots
That lay quiet in your breast.
Love, give me leave to try
To wake love’s tender shoots
That we may harvest summer’s best.