Shayari Bazar

Tis the noon of the spring-time,Yet never a bird In the wind-shaked elm or the maple is heard;For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow,And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow;Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white;The frosty flake eddies, the ice crystal shoots;And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps,Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers,With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers!