In
February
Now
in the dark of February rains,
Poor
lovers of the sunshine, spring is born,
The
earthy fields are full of hidden corn,
And
March's violets bud along the lanes;
Therefore
with joy believe in what remains.
And
thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn
Our
early songs for winter overworn,
And
faith in God's handwriting on the plains.
“Hope”
writes he, “Love” in the first violet,
“Joy,”
even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees;
And
having caught the happy words in these
While
Nature labours with the letters yet,
Spring
cannot cheat us, though her hopes be broken,
Nor
leave us, for we know what God hath spoken.
George
Macdonald
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