Sonett-Forum

February 1st, 1842

One month is past, another is begun,
Since merry bells rung out the dying year,
And buds of rarest green begin to peer,
As if impatient for a warmer sun;

And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,
The virgin snowdrop, like a lambent fire,
Pierces the cold earth with its green-sheath'd spire
And in dark woods the wandering little one

May find a primerose. Thus the better mind
Puts forth some flowers, escaped from Paradise,
Though faith be dim as faintest wintry skies,

And passion fierce as January wind.
O God, vouchsafe a sunbeam clear and kind,
To cheer the pining flow'ret ere it dies.