212
Oh! many a glorious flower there grows
In far and richer lands:
But high in my affection e'er
The Autumn Crocus stands.
I love their faces, when, by one
And two, they're looking out:—
I love them, when the spreading field
Is purple all about.
I loved them in the by-gone years
Of childhood's thoughtless laughter,
When I marvelled why the flowers came first
And the leaves the season after.
I loved them then, I love them now,
The gentle and the bright;
I love them for the thoughts they bring
Of Spring's returning light;
When, first-born of the waking earth,
Their kindred gay appear.
And, with the Snowdrop, usher in
The hope invested year.
But they are passing from us now,
And round each frail, white stem
The purple petals faded droop;
Winter will chase e'en them.
