Advent of Spring

Note: For an English assignment, we had to write a poem in the style of Transendentalism (if you don't know what that means, look it up). I decided to write about the coming of "spring" in the Northeast, and hoping for real spring. But, I didn't want to lose the "shiny happy people" mood of the Transendentalists, and this was the result:

I look out the window,
Gazing at the world gilded in white;
The snow lays thick on the ground.
Swirling in the wind,
Gleaming in the sun,
Silent when first painted thick
On the cold ground.
It can bring delight to those
Who adore the winter.
It can bring dread to those
Who long for the rays of summer.
And yet...
I muse, looking upon this
White playground;
And yet, after a time,
Even the most beloved and welcome guest
Can grow tiresome to its host.
I delight in the snow upon its arrival
In the last throws of November,
Or its peaceful coming in early December;
But when it comes to the middle of March,
And the wintery visitor is still residing
On trees, over gables, blanketing fields,
Or becoming neighbors with dark mud
Tired grass, and the skeletons of crops of harvest past,
I grow tiresome of my once-welcome guest.
I pray for the night of winter to be over,
And the dawn of spring to break over the horizon,
Throwing its beams, driving the snow away.
But then again,
Sweet maiden Spring wouldn’t be able to come
If there was no miser Winter to precede its coming,
Just as there could be no breaking of dawn,
If the shroud of night
Did not come before it.