The blackest month of all the year
Is the month of Janiveer.
Through all the sad and weary hours
Which cold and dark and storms will bring,
We scarce believe in what we know—
That time drags on at last to Spring.
The empty pastures blind with rain.
If the grass grow in Janiveer
'Twill be the worse for 't all the year.
A fair day in winter is the mother of a storm.