  FEBRUARY,—fortnights two— Briefest of the months are you, Of the winter's children last. Why do you go by so fast? Is it not a little strange Once in four years you should change, That the sun should shine and give You another day to live? May be this is only done Since you are the smallest one; So I make the shortest rhyme For you, as befits your time: You're the baby of the year, And to me you're very dear, Just because you bring the line, "Will you be my Valentine?" —Frank Dempster Sherman. The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch-deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. —Lowell. |
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