already dreaming of spring

I am still getting used to living by Lake Erie; its cutting winds which blow me into work, so glad to get inside the warm cave of the library. I don't mind winter, but today I am dreaming of spring:

"Soon shall the winter’s foil be here"

Soon shall the winter’s foil be here;
Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt—A little while,
And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and growth—a
thousand forms shall rise
From these dead clods and chills as from low burial graves.
Thine eyes, ears, all thy best attributes—all that takes cognizance of natural
Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the simple shows, the delicate
miracles of earth,
Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early scents and flowers,
The arbutus under foot, the willow’s yellow-green, the blossoming plum and
With these the robin, lark and thrush, singing their songs—the flitting
For such the scenes the annual play brings on.

--Walt Whitman


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