The First Sun of the New Year
Not long ago the sun has risen
Late and unwilling from a dark bed,
All clothed in crimson cloud, to be wed
To the washed-out sky. And now, it is up.
First it touches the chimney, till it glows
Warm red against the pale, and now it’ll expose
By casting its slanting beams,
The grass that yet grows green
Beneath the stiff and silvery frost – and seen
And softly caressed by the sun is her child –
A lonely snowdrop bud, quite faint and mild
And the sun she thaws the frost and leaves her tears.