In lingering winter was my darling born,
To make amends by Nature for her dearth
And cutting winds, that over buried earth,
Blew darkness in the face of surly morn.
Then stole she gently on a world forlorn,
Like summer straying with her light and mirth,
Her balmy breath, her bright and fragrant birth
Of flowers, into a valley tempest-torn.
Yea, and to me, who like the blackened land,
Lay cold and still, her blessed presence came,
When I had deemed my life a burnt-out brand;
When sense and heart were quenched, and God's own flame
Died in my soul, she took my hopeless hand,
And led me forward in Love's holy name.