The crocus, while the days are dark, <br />Unfolds its saffron sheen; <br />At April's touch the crudest bark <br />Discovers gems of green. <br /> <br />Then sleep the seasons, full of might; <br />While slowly swells the pod <br />And rounds the peach, and in the night <br />The mushroom bursts the sod. <br /> <br />The winter falls; the frozen rut <br />Is bound with silver bars; <br />The snowdrift heaps against the hut, <br />And night is pierced with stars.<br /><br />Coventry Patmore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-year-7/
