First blossom

The blackthorn is out! Promise of sloes to come.. (and that means promise of sloe gin, hurrah, hurrah)

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins...
Swinburn