Spring in Winter
For me there is no rarer thing
Than, while the winter's lingering,
To taste the blessedness of spring.
Were this the spring, I now should sigh
That aught were spent;—but rich am I!
Untouched spring's golden sum doth lie.
Than, while the winter's lingering,
To taste the blessedness of spring.
Were this the spring, I now should sigh
That aught were spent;—but rich am I!
Untouched spring's golden sum doth lie.
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