letra de a calendar of sonnets by helen hunt jackson - ghizela rowe
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still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
and reigns the winter’s pregnant silence still;
no sign of spring, save that the catkins fill
and willow stems grow daily red and bright
these are days when ancients held a rite
of expiation for the old year’s ill
and prayer to purify the new year’s will:
fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight
ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste
and dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed
the ardеnt summer’s joy to have and taste;
fit days, to givе to last year’s losses heed
to recon clear the new life’s sterner need;
fit days, for feast of expiation placed!
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