Of ice, frost, and snow, on his jolly old back,
And hies to the mountain, but leaves in his stead
The Goddess of Love, with the blossom-crowned head;
And a breath that is filled with the nectar and dew,
She stole from the heart of the violet blue;
A voice—O, the music that swells on the air
From fresh-budding woodland, from hedge,—everywhere,
Caressed by the sunlight and bathed by the showers,
She walks on a carpet of mosses and flowers.
Again comes the pessimist, grumpy and grim,