I <br /> <br />Winter is white on turf and tree, <br /> And birds are fled; <br />But summer songsters pipe to me, <br /> And petals spread, <br />For what I dreamt of secretly <br /> His lips have said! <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />O 'tis a fine May morn, they say, <br /> And blooms have blown; <br />But wild and wintry is my day, <br /> My birds make moan; <br />For he who vowed leaves me to pay <br /> Alone--alone!<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-seasons-of-her-year/
