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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea,

Wakes daisies in the wintry earth,

Wakes hopes in wintry me.

The sun is low; the paths are wet,

And dance with frolic hail;

The trees--their spring-time is not yet--

Swing sighing in the gale.

Young gleams of sunshine peep and play;

Clouds shoulder in between;

scarce believe one coming day The earth will all be green.

The north wind blows, and blasts, and raves,

And flaps his snowy wing:

Back! toss thy bergs on arctic waves;

Thou canst not bar our spring.

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