O Hepatica, when will you beckon
to awaken me from Winter’s lull?
I implore you to quickly usurp her
ere her lingering rounds my lobes dull.
Sweet Anemone, wait not a second
to emerge from your ashen abode;
for I’ve already faded to torpor
and my cognizance starts to corrode.
Dear ephemeral sprite, do you reckon
I’ll escape her in spite of the cold?
For I rue that she holds me in stupor
but your blossom wood get me paroled.