When fast in rigid thews of ice,
 The palest month of all the year -
  The stoutest heart grown faint a bit
   As Winter's rigors still appear;

The motives of the Spring so dumb,
 The landscape shorn of grace, and lone,
  Adds but a shade of grayer gray
   To life's depressing monotone.

How sweet to know in farther clime,
 Where richer acres kiss the sun,
  In budded trees, in breath of May
   The birds betrothal is begun;

And robins tilt in perfect glee,
 Singing aloud their happy fate -
  Singing to every flower and sky ^{in soft ecstatic keys}
   Today, today we choose our mate!

SHD