It was the winter,
Cold and dark and slight
Bent over by the stars that climbed the mountain;
Only those small points were soft and bright.
But what is snow, or ice, or thunder?
The heart is warm, the spirit light.
All flowers in the world are drenched in wonder,
My very self throws off the night,
It was the sunray that your summer brought me,
Like flocks and feathers left to flight.
So many dreams the clouds plowed under,
As I wandered through the means of life;
But I have found a spot forever:
The heavens with their soaring kite.
It is still the winter,
Like other winters and their sting,
But now you are my kindest mentor,
Now it is the spring.