Spring – A Sonnet

 

 

Oh bitter wind of winter, never may

Your chilling hostile grip invade the soul

Which is my essence, longs for warmer day

Forbid it be it was my hope you stole

 

Your predecessor, russet autumn breeze,

Fortelling your harsh entrance, deeply grim,

Both overtaking summer’s breath, allied,

Conspire together to sing nature’s hymn

 

Most pure, most clear, the kindest breeze of all

Indulges me; it’s graciousness, a kiss

Upon my cheek in mercy: spring’s sweet call!

My soul alive – what deeper joy than this?

 

Sweet spring, come soon, do not be late –

And I shall sit, content to wait