Behold a rose in the glowing coal;
The months of Wintertime backward roll
And the room is filled with the ghost of laughter.
For here is the tree that we knew together
When the ending year was a Springtime young;
The northman’s pine and the Scotsman’s heather,
The Briton’s oak where the children swung—
Oh, these are the things by the night-wind sung
Above the roar of the wintry weather.
For all the year is a time of clover