No, This Is January, Dear, The Almanac'S Untrue; For Roaring Boreas, 'Tis Clear, In Sleet And Snow And Atmosphere, Will Be The Monarch Of The Year, And Terror, Too. "Is It A Blessing In Disguise?" Of Course, Things Always Are; But Arctic Blasts With Ardent Skies Somehow Do Not Quite Harmonize, That Try To Cheat By Weather-Lies The Calendar. Old Janus Must Be Double-Faced; He Promised Long Ago The Maple Syrup Not To Taste, Nor Steal The Roses From The Waist Of One, A Damsel Fair And Chaste As April Snow. O Winter Of Our Discontent! Your Reign Was For A Day; Behold! A Scene Of Wonderment, A Thousand Tongues Are Eloquent, For Spring, In Bud And Bloom And Scent, Is On The Way.