Poem April 18, 1903 Issue

The Passing of Winter

Harry W. Bugbee

Springfield Republican

A gentle warmth is in the air that breathes
Of rarest days, and even to the snow
A kind of tender radiance bequeaths
That seems to speak of life that hides below.
E'en now, the shapes of trees,
Softened in outline, dot the distant leas
Or climb the nearer slopes where visible show
The fair new buds, and everywhere they throw
Shadows more mazy at their feet,
And gayly mock as winter's hosts retreat.

Harry W. Bugbee. In Springfield Republican.

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