O snowdrops, do not rise, Because the happy eyes
That loved you once, now underneath you lie; Let not your buds appear, Each seems a frozen tear,
That never drops, and yet is never dry.
Such useless tears they seem. As in a heavy dream,
We pour about our griefs to make them grow; When all the lights are pale, And all the cruses fail.
And all the flowers are underneath the snow.
