BARRY CORNWALL. 
What bath saved thee ? Thou wast not 
’Gainst the arrowy Winter furred,— 
Armed in scale,—but all forgot 
When the frozen winds were stirred. 
Nature, who doth clothe the bird, 
Should have hid thee iii the earth, 
Till the cuckoo’s song was heard, 
And the Spring let loose her mirth. 
Nature,—deep and mystic word ! 
Mighty mother still unknown ! 
Thou did’st sure the Snowdrop gird 
With an armor all thine own ! 
Thou, who sent’st it forth alone 
To the cold and sullen season, 
(Like a thought at random thrown,> 
Sent it thus for some grave reason J 
If ’twere but to pierce the mind 
With a single gentle thought, 
Who shall deem thee harsh or blind ? 
Who that thou hast vainly wrought t 
Hoard the gentle virtue caught 
From the Snowdrop,—reader wise < 
Good is good, wherever taught, 
On the ground or in the skies ! 
