Come February Eden- show
your face!
Come rebel summer- burn
winter away!
The day is yours- shine on
and make us proud!
Blow back the fog of the
declining day.
Due West the bright
balloon is flying low;
The avian chorus chirrups
its dissent
That they should share
their sky with dilettantes
Raised up, made godlike by
Promethean vents.
Come five o’clock no resonance
remains;
Persephone returns to her
dread tomb,
With her I’ll languish in
the misty gloom
And with one little lapse
lose all my gains.
These little victories are
all in vain
Since winter is still
winter all the same.
