62 
SNOW-DROP. 
Whose little current purls along 
Thy fair and glossy charms among, 
And whelms thee as it flows. 
The night-breeze tears thy silky dress, 
Which, deck’d with silv’ry lustre, shone 
The morn returns not thee to bless, 
The gaudy crocus flaunts its pride, 
And triumphs where its rivai died. 
Unshelter’d and unknown. 
No sunny beam shall gild thy grave, 
No bird of pity thee deplore ; 
There shall no spreading branches wave. 
For spring shall all her gems unfold, 
And revel ’mid her buds of gold. 
When thou art seen no more. 
Where’er I find thee, gentle flower. 
Thou art still sweet and dear to me ! 
For I have known the cheerless hour, 
Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, 
Have felt the chilling wintry gale. 
And wept and shrunk like thee ! 
The same. —wordsworth. 
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows, and 
white as they, 
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend 
