Ode to February

With wreath of yellow crocus bound, See furr-clad February creep! His beard with snow is silver'd o'er, Which still invests the hoary ground: Two dolphins wait him on the deep, And as they once Arion bore, Invite him to serener skies, Where the delighted spring-bird flies.

But he, intent to prune and plant, And throw his seeds around the soil, With decent grace the boon resigns, Lest autumn's treasures should be scant; Thence he renews his daily toil, And trims with care the tender vines; From rust he wipes his crooked knife, And gives the infant sap new life.

Now earlier with her golden key Aurora hastens to the east: And later now advances night To draw her mantle o'er the day, Suspending the nocturnal feast: Diana sooner hails the light; And hark the jolly huntsman's horn With sprightly note salutes the morn!

What are the checquer'd months to me? Or if they lower, or if they shine, So Myra but approves my flame: Throb not my heart; be calm and free, For yonder comes old Valentine! The feather'd songsters shall proclaim His festival with blither note, And dress anew their bridal coat.

To Myra I enclos'd my heart, Each letter bore an ardent vow; St. Valentine the thought inspir'd, And wrote the verse with Cupid's dart. Next morning with serener brow She own'd her melting bosom fir'd; And gave her every charm to join The avison of Valentine.