• Rejoice, rejoice with me my weary friends!
    The beauty of the year has come at last
    and the winter's long drawn festival ends;
    her insensitive heart's cold reign has past.

    Her strength is lost, her grip loosened from us.
    No more does she hold prisoner our lives.
    Now flowers bloom, trees bud, and all knows thus:
    her death, no longer on our vigor thrives!

    But, alas, one day she will return again,
    stealing in silently on whispers said:
    "I have come to humble the hearts of man
    and to tuck Mother Nature in her bed."

    "For my mother has worked the whole year past,
    and for this I live again at last!"