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172
WINTER BLOSSOMS.
See how blue violets and the pale primroseRound sleeping Winter's brow securely cluster,
Lending the dreary woods unwonted lustre
Where his recumbent form he idly throws,
While at his feet a shining rivulet flows;
But soon the Giant will awake and bluster
Among the creaking trees, and frowning, muster
His icy winds and clouds and muffling snows.
Then with his chilling fingers he will scatter
The untimely wreath that graced his tangled hair,
Though now the flowers may smile, the sunshine flatter:
Let sanguine Hope give heed to sober Reason—
Of buds that burst precociously beware—
To everything on earth there is a season.
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