In February by Alice Meynell — Read

Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn,

Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers,

And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers;

A poet's face asleep in this grey morn.

Now in the midst of the old world forlorn

A mystic child is set in these still hours.

I keep this time, even before the flowers,

Sacred to all the young and the unborn:

To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat, / And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal, / And to the future of my own young art,

And, among all these things, to you, my sweet, / My friend, to your calm face and the immortal / Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart.