āThe bed of flowersLoosens amain,The beauteous snowdropsDroop o'er the plain.The crocus opensIts glowing bud,Like emeralds others,Others, like blood.With saucy gesturePrimroses flare,And roguish violets,Hidden with care;And whatsoeverThere stirs and strives,The Spring's contented,If works and thrives.ā


