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February Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The Brook in February by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  2. I'm Not Just February by Annette Wynne
  3. Leap Year by Annette Wynne
  4. February by Rebecca Hey
  5. The February Hush by Thomas Wentworth Higginson

  1. The Brook in February

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    A snowy path for squirrel and fox,
    It winds between the wintry firs.
    Snow-muffled are its iron rocks,
    And o'er its stillness nothing stirs.

    But low, bend low a listening ear!
    Beneath the mask of moveless white
    A babbling whisper you shall hear—
    Of birds and blossoms, leaves and light.

  2. I'm Not Just February

    by Annette Wynne

    I'm not just February
    With winds that blow
    All day, and piled-up snow;
    I'm Washington and Lincoln, too,
    Who kept our country's flag for you!
    I'm Valentine of airy grace—
    With golden hearts and hearts of lace
    And pretty cards that people send,
    Quite as a secret, to a friend.
    Though I am short of days and small,
    I'm quite a big month, after all!

  3. Leap Year

    by Annette Wynne

    Little month of February,
    You are small, but worthy—very!
    Will you grow up like the others,
    Like your sister months and brothers?
    Every four years with a bound
    With a leap up from the ground,
    Trying to grow tall as they—
    All you stretch is one small day!
    Even then you're not so tall
    But just the shortest month of all.

  4. February

    by Rebecca Hey

    Though Winter still asserts his right to reign,
    He sways his sceptre now with gentler hand;
    Nay, sometimes softens to a zephyr bland
    The hurrying blast, which erst along the plain
    Drove the skin-piercing sleet and pelting rain
    In headlong rage; while, ever and anon,
    He draws aside his veil of vapours dun,
    That the bright sun may smile on us again.
    To-day 'twould seem (so soft the west wind's sigh)
    That the mild spirit of the infant Spring
    Was brooding o'er the spots where hidden lie
    Such early flowers as are the first to fling
    On earth's green lap their wreaths of various dye—
    Flowers, round whose forms sweet hopes and sweeter memories cling.

  5. The February Hush

    by Thomas Wentworth Higginson

    Snow o'er the darkening moorlands,—
    Flakes fill the quiet air;
    Drifts in the forest hollows,
    And a soft mask everywhere.

    The nearest twig on the pine-tree
    Looks blue through the whitening sky,
    And the clinging beech-leaves rustle
    Though never a wind goes by.

    But there's red on the wildrose berries,
    And red in the lovely glow
    On the cheeks of the child beside me,
    That once were pale, like snow.