Hark to the avalanche snow from the roofs
O'er eaves where the icicles melt in the sun !
Hark to the musical suck of the hoofs
By the road where the ditches are ready to run !
On the slope of the hill is a patchwork of green
And the fallows are spotted with spaces of brown,
While woodlands and copses and hedges between
Have lost the white burden that weighted them
down.
The silence that came with the fall of the frost
Has broken in patter and tinkle and drip,
And murmur of wind where the pinetops are tossed
To the outermost, furthermost feathery tip.
The pigeons are back on the ridge of the roofs
And the sparrows a-twitter once more in the sun,
But dearer than all is the suck of the hoofs
That tells to the sportsman the thaw has begun.
You may sing of the diamond gems on the thorn
And the hedges all hung with a silvery sheen,
But nothing does winter so fitly adorn
As the first flashing jewels of emerald green !
Good-bye to King Frost and his murderous grip,
Let the snow and her silvery servants withdraw !
Let us back to the horn and the hound and the whip ;
Be the ploughs e'er so heavy, good luck to the
thaw !
