WINTER is passing, and the bells For ever with their silver lay Murmur¹ a melody that tells Of April and of Easter day. High in sweet air the light vane sets, The weathercocks all southward twirl； A sou will buy her violets And make Nini a happy girl.

    The winter to the poor was sore, Counting the weary winter days, Watching his little fire-wood store, The bitter snow-flakes fell always； And now his last log dimly gleamed, Lighting² the room with feeble glare, Half cinder³ and half smoke it seemed That the wind wafted⁴ into air.

    Pilgrims from ocean and far isles⁵ See where the east is reddening, The flocks that fly a thousand miles From sunsetting to sunsetting； Look up, look out, behold⁶ the swallows, The throats that twitter, the wings that beat； And on their song the summer follows, And in the summer life is sweet.