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CROCUS, 
’Twas so : in vain I sought thee 
Within my garden-bower ; 
And from the fields I brought thee, 
Pale autumn’s faithful flower. 
Spring flowers, like fortune’s lightness, 
With calm skies pass away ; 
But this reveals its brightness 
’Mid silence and decay ; 
Like thy pure stedfast spirit, strong in sorrow’s 
darkest day. 
