MUD under foot, fogs over head, 

Rain, drizzle, gloom, and mist; 

Winter and spring are reconciled,

Have met again and kissed. 

Uncertain, fickle, fierce, and false 

A monster in his rage, 

A hampered lion fain to break 

The boundary of his cage.

Parent of winds and frantic storms,

Patron of sulky nights, 

When all the sky is bloody red

With ghostly Northern Lights

Repenting, now and then, to show

Suns like the suns of June 

And soft, cerulean, placid skies

Above a placid moon.

White snows, forgetful of the time,

Drifting adown the hills 

And spanning ice bridging across

Emancipated rills; 

Touches of fiercest polar cold,

Blasts from the Boreal shores 

Sweeping with wild demoniac rage,

The dreary waste of moors.

Crushing with brutal hands the flowers

That yearn to spring to bloom, 

Dooming all vegetating things

Unto a common tomb; 

Nipping with frosty breath the life

Of sprout, and bud, and leaf 

But little care we for his power,

The time of his reign is brief!