Sarah Doudney

The Last Snow of Winter

Soft snow still rests within this wayside cleft,
   Veiling the primrose buds not yet unfurled;
Last trace of dreary winter, idly left
   On beds of moss, and sere leaves crisply curled;
Why does it linger while the violets blow,
                And sweet things grow?

A relic of long nights and weary days,
   When all fair things were hidden from my sight;
A chill reminder of those mournful ways
   I traversed when the fields were cold and white;
My life was dim, my hopes lay still and low
                Beneath the snow.

Now spring is coming, and my buried love
   Breaks fresh and strong and living through the sod;
The lark sings loudly in the blue above,
   The budding earth must magnify her God;
Let the old sorrows and old errors go
                With the last snow!