ā€œThe 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€

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