Perchance escaped its unknown polar cave.
E’en now the keen north-east is on its way,
Flower thou must perish! Shall I liken thee
To some sweet girl of too, too rapid growth?
Samuel T. Coleridge, 1770–1849.
FEBRUARY.
Dip down upon the northern shore,
O sweet new year, delaying long,
Thou dost expectant nature wrong,
Delaying long, delay no more.