Peacefully fresh, O February morn, <br />Thy winds come to me: quiet the light slants <br />Through silver--bosomed clouds, that slowly borne <br />Across the wide heath, endlessly advance. <br /> <br />Now 'tis that pause before the leaping Spring, <br />When over all things waiting comes a hush; <br />And shyly, listen! the one vocal thing, <br />Over his dewy notes lingers the thrush. <br /> <br />Now life, with all her hindering riddles, seems <br />Simple as its green budding to the tree. <br />Awhile the Fates forbear, and to my dreams, <br />Sheltered awhile from truth, relinquish me. <br /> <br />In haven and at anchor rides my heart, <br />And broods upon its swelling joys apart.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/february-morning-4/
