/ 
' 
a on geto-fta's Jag* 
Anon. 
J)Y what rule, stranger, shall we fix thy date? 
Art thou a thing of last year, or of this ? 
With breathless longing the soft snow-flakes wait, 
Thy lightly tinted virgin lips to kiss. 
With all around thou seem’st a contrast strange, 
Yet none, I ween, for that will love thee less; 
Heedless alike of fortune, and of change. 
Thou, with vast strivings, into life didst press. 
No lovelier object decks creation’s free; 
No sight so cheering as a rose fresh blown; 
But Nature has enhanc’d thy modest grace, 
Because thou cam’st in Winter, and alone. 
Thou art a being fair, a beauty bright; 
A prophet, whispering of joy to come; 
A spirit, pointing to the realms of light, 
Where Spring eternal reigns, in peerless bloom. 
A 
