And shrinking at the northern blast,
The sleety storm returning still,
The morning hoar, the evening chill:
Reluctant comes the timid Spring,
Scarce a bee, with airy ring,
Murmurs the blossomed boughs around
That clothe the garden’s southern bound;
Scarce a sickly, straggling flower
Decks the rough castle’s rifted tower;
Scarce the hardy ivy peeps