Still snow on the ground? Icicles at roof's edge? Chant this as winter's icy grip loosens:
Come with rain, o loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do tonight,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattlin' pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.
Robert Frost
TO THE THAWING WIND