HEP A TIC A. 



Come ! for long has been our waiting, 

 Wayward impulse of the Spring, 

 Longings by the March wind stirred 

 Have been lost through hope deferred; 

 You, from utter darkness breaking, 

 Newer light may bring, 

 Fair hepatica ! 



Clear the brook beside you singing 

 Do you hear it and obey ? 

 Does it bid you now lift up 

 The blue light within your cup, 

 All your earth-born perfume bringing 

 To the open day, 



Sweet hepatica ? 



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