Winter is angry for a reason,
Her time has passed forward:
Spring is knocking on the casement
And driving her out of the yard.
And everything started fussing about,
Everything is proscribing winter aside in,
And the larks in the blue sky now
Have already raised their scream.
Winter is still go fussing
And grumbling at young Spring.
But it laughs in winter face
And only makes more roaring.
The wicked witch flew into a rage,
And, snatching up some snow,
It hurled it—as it out fled—
At the beautiful child brow.
But Spring can not care less.
It washed herself in the snow dust
And only itself became rosieress
In defiance of the enemy. malice.