JANUARY THAW

The brook has broken through its glass,

And where the snows were drifted

Round tangled blades of last year’ s grass,

The yellow sun is sifted.

Uncovered by the melting night

And warm, deceiving day-time,

The myrtle bed is green and bright

As in the midst of Maytime!

I almost fancy that I hear

The hum of bees in clover,

And from the maples, glad and clear,

The first red-robin lover.

A mock spring laughs in mocking skies,

( O little buds, be wary! )

And masking in sweet April’ s guise

The youthful year makes merry.