The Posy Ring: A Book of Verse for Children. Various

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       Little fairy snow-flakes

       Dancing in the flue;

       Old Mr. Santa Claus,

       What is keeping you?

       Twilight and firelight

       Shadows come and go;

       Merry chime of sleigh-bells

       Tinkling through the snow;

       Mother knitting stockings

       (Pussy's got the ball)— Don't you think that winter's Pleasanter than all?

      Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

       In February

      The birds have been singing to-day,

       And saying: "The spring is near!

       The sun is as warm as in May,

       And the deep blue heavens are clear."

       The little bird on the boughs

       Of the sombre snow-laden pine

       Thinks: "Where shall I build me my house,

       And how shall I make it fine?

       "For the season of snow is past;

       The mild south wind is on high;

       And the scent of the spring is cast

       From his wing as he hurries by."

       The little birds twitter and cheep

       To their loves on the leafless larch;

       But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,

       And the year hath not worn to March.

      John Addington Symonds.

      

       March

      The cock is crowing,

       The stream is flowing,

       The small birds twitter,

       The lake doth glitter,

       The green field sleeps in the sun;

       The oldest and youngest

       Are at work with the strongest;

       The cattle are grazing,

       Their heads never raising;

       There are forty feeding like one.

       Like an army defeated

       The snow hath retreated,

       And now doth fare ill

       On the top of the bare hill;

       The ploughboy is whooping—anon—anon!

       There's joy on the mountains;

       There's life in the fountains;

       Small clouds are sailing,

       Blue sky prevailing;

       The rain is over and gone.

      William Wordsworth.

      Nearly Ready[A]

      

      In the snowing and the blowing,

       In the cruel sleet,

       Little flowers begin their growing

       Far beneath our feet.

       Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,

       "Darlings, are you here?"

       Till they answer, "We are nearly,

       Nearly ready, dear."

       "Where is Winter, with his snowing?

       Tell us, Spring," they say.

       Then she answers, "He is going,

       Going on his way.

       Poor old Winter does not love you;

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