Classic Poem

Dull to the year's first odours, I rebell'd
Against the law which doom'd the violets
Ere I had smelt them; but, ere long, I held
A quicken'd nostril over all the sweets
Of the full summer — for I had besought
The All-Giver to restore my blunted sense;
Humbly I pray'd, and breath of roses brought
The answer. O! it was a joy intense,
After that dreary interval of loss.
I laugh'd, I ran about as one possess'd,
And now that winter seems my hopes to cross
I snuff the very frost with happy zest,
Proud of recover'd power, and fain to win
Fresh triumphs for it, when the Spring comes in.