SNOWDROP. 
21 
Their father’s house so free from care. 
And the familiar faces there ; 
The household voices kind and sweet, 
That knew no feigning—hushed and gone ! 
The mother that was sure to greet 
Their coming with a welcome tone ; 
The brothers that were children then, 
Now anxious, toiling, thoughtful men ; 
And the kind sister whose glad mirth 
Was like a sunshine on the earth— 
These come back to the soul supine, 
Flower of the spring, at look of thine : 
And thou, among the dimmed and gone. 
Art an unaltered thing alone ! 
Unchanged—unchanged—the very flower 
That grew in Eden droopingly— 
And now beside the peasant’s door 
Awakes his little children’s glee. 
Even as it filled his heart with joy 
Beside his mother’s door, a boy !— 
The same—and to his heart it brings 
The freshness of those vanished springs ! 
Bloom then, fair flower, in sun and shade. 
For deep thought in thy cup is laid ; 
And careless children, in their glee, 
A sacred memory make of thee ! 
TO THE SNOWDROP. 
KEBLE. 
Thou first-born of the year’s delight, 
Pride of the dewy glade, 
