I planted a rose-tree in my garden, 



In early days when the year was young ; 



I thought it would bear me roses, roses, 



While nights were dewy and days were long/* 



MATHILDE BLIND. 



FEBRUARY 



Beneath the silver silence of the snow, 



That falleth late, 



The green leaves wait, 

 Asleep with folded hands. 

 Impatiently a flower waits to blow, 



A bird to sing. 



No song doth ring 

 Across the frozen lands. 



A silent prelude, ere the feathered choirs 



Fast westward throng 



With new-tuned song, 

 To blossom-time's first day. 

 Beneath the silver silence, flower-fires 



Wait yet to shed 



Gold flame and red 

 To make the garden gay. 



