WINTER is passing, and the bells For ever with their silver lay Murmur a melody that tells Of April and of Easter day. High in sweet air the light vane sets, The weathercocks all southward twirl; A sou will buy her violets And make Nini a happy girl.
The winter to the poor was sore, Counting the weary winter days, Watching his little fire-wood store, The bitter snow-flakes fell always; And now his last log dimly gleamed, Lighting the room with feeble glare, Half cinder and half smoke it seemed That the wind wafted into air.
Pilgrims from ocean and far isles See where the east is reddening, The flocks that fly a thousand miles From sunsetting to sunsetting; Look up, look out, behold the swallows, The throats that twitter, the wings that beat; And on their song the summer follows, And in the summer life is sweet.
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With the green tender buds that know The shoot and sap of lusty spring My neighbour of a year ago Her casement, see, is opening; Through all the bitter months that were, Forth from her nest she dared not flee, She was a study for Boucher, She now might sit to Gavarni.
