While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry <br />And blackening east that so embitters March, <br />Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch, <br />And driven dust and withering snowflake fly; <br />Already in glimpses of the tarnish'd sky <br />The sun is warm and beckons to the larch, <br />And where the covert hazels interarch <br />Their tassell'd twigs, fair beds of primrose lie. <br />Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid <br />A million buds but stay their blossoming; <br />And trustful birds have built their nests amid <br />The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing <br />Till one soft shower from the south shall bid, <br />And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of spring.<br /><br />Robert Seymour Bridges<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/while-yet-we-wait-for-spring-and-from-the-dry/
