A wee sweet poem for February

"One month is past, another is begun,
Since merry bells rang out the dying year,
And buds of rarest green began to peer,
As if impatient for a warmer sun;
And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,
The virgin snowdrop, like a lambent fire,
Pierces the cold earth with it's green-streaked spire 
And in dark woods, the wandering little one 
May find a primrose."

~February 1st 1842
        ~Hartley Coleridge~