I think I'll be back on Thursday.
In the meantime, here is a Dante Gabriel Rossetti poem (1870) about spring. I recommend not reading it. It's not very good. Is it? This is actually relevant to the Ford Madox Ford novel I'm reading, along with others, as organized by The Reading Life.
So now the changed year's turning wheel returns
And as a girl sails balanced in the wind,
And now before and now again behind
Stoops as it swoops, with cheek that laughs and burns,--
So Spring comes merry towards me now, but earns
No answering smile from me, whose life is twin'd
With the dead boughs that winter still must bind,
And whom to-day the Spring no more concerns.
Behold, this crocus is a withering flame;
This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom's part
To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent's art.
Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them,
Nor gaze till on the year's last lily-stem
The white cup shrivels round the golden heart.