Here you will find the Poem The Winter's Spring of poet John Clare
The winter comes; I walk alone, I want no bird to sing; To those who keep their hearts their own The winter is the spring. No flowers to please--no bees to hum-- The coming spring's already come. I never want the Christmas rose To come before its time; The seasons, each as God bestows, Are simple and sublime. I love to see the snowstorm hing; 'Tis but the winter garb of spring. I never want the grass to bloom: The snowstorm's best in white. I love to see the tempest come And love its piercing light. The dazzled eyes that love to cling O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring. I love the snow, the crumpling snow That hangs on everything, It covers everything below Like white dove's brooding wing, A landscape to the aching sight, A vast expanse of dazzling light. It is the foliage of the woods That winters bring--the dress, White Easter of the year in bud, That makes the winter Spring. The frost and snow his posies bring, Nature's white spurts of the spring.