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| Image credit: nbelokonskaya from Pixabay |
Ah, how the sight of fair untimely flowers
Awakes a subtle sentiment, and fills
The soul with quiet pleasure. Something thrills
Our being to the core and softly showers
Strange yearning thought upon us. When the close
Of a December day is stirless, mild
As is this twilight hour, we are beguiled
By its seductive softness: and there grows
(As one by one from out the placid sky
The tranquil stars appear), the half-formed doubt
Whether the scene be real. For without
A question kindly Auster cannot try
To bring a greater boon. Joys that arise
All unexpected we most keenly prize.
~ H. T. Mackenzie Bell
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