|
I would I had some flowers o' the
spring that might Become your time o' day; daffodils, That come before the swallow dares; Violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of June's eyes, Or Gytherea's breath. |
| WINTER'S TALE. |
|
NOW from their chrysalis trance our bulb-loves peer From brumal bound unprisoned to assume The hues that speak their forms' penumbra near - Nigh crystalled prime of this new flower-lit year Whose tints the prisms of the spring illume. Here Tulip-cups cheer Flora's advent hours, Sad Hyacinths bear Apollo's symbolled plaint, Self-plumed Narcissi vaunt florescent powers - Join Daffodils, Jonquils - all akin in flowers - While vernal fingers fresh their petals paint. Lone Colchicums their plighted leafage show As earnest of the bloom in autumn shed - But lily vestals, reflex of the 'parted snow, Prescient reveal their Resurrection glow - A halo gleaming round each aureoled head. Thus souls resurgent in supernal guise, As bulbs, to life of loftier being cling; From earth-clad germ to sun-rayed growth arise - Gazing relumed, intent upon the skies - Unfading flower in sempiternal Spring! |
| TO LAWRENCE BARRETT | CONTENTS | A PRECOCIOUS HYACINTH |
|---|