Crocuses

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <h4 id="id00039" style="margin-top: 2em"> THE CROCUSES.</h4> <p id="id00009" style="margin-top: 2em"> By</p> <h5 id="id00010"> FRANCES E. W. HARPER</h5> <p id="id00040">  They heard the South wind sighing<br/> A murmur of the rain;<br/> And they knew that Earth was longing<br/> To see them all again.<br/></p> <p id="id00041">  While the snow-drops still were sleeping<br/> Beneath the silent sod;<br/> They felt their new life pulsing<br/> Within the dark, cold clod.<br/></p> <p id="id00042">  Not a daffodil nor daisy<br/> Had dared to raise its head;<br/> Not a fairhaired dandelion<br/> Peeped timid from its bed;<br/></p> <h4 id="id00043" style="margin-top: 2em"> THE CROCUSES. 5</h4> <p id="id00044">  Though a tremor of the winter<br/> Did shivering through them run;<br/> Yet they lifted up their foreheads<br/> To greet the vernal sun.<br/></p> <p id="id00045">  And the sunbeams gave them welcome.<br/> As did the morning air<br/> And scattered o'er their simple robes<br/> Rich tints of beauty rare.<br/></p> <p id="id00046">  Soon a host of lovely flowers<br/> From vales and woodland burst;<br/> But in all that fair procession<br/> The crocuses were first.<br/></p> <p id="id00047">  First to weave for Earth a chaplet<br/> To crown her dear old head;<br/> And to beautify the pathway<br/> Where winter still did tread.<br/></p> <p id="id00048">  And their loved and white haired mother<br/> Smiled sweetly 'neath the touch,<br/> When she knew her faithful children<br/> Were loving her so much.<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />