Floral Poetry. 
75 
Others, too, of lofty mien, 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, 
Little, humble Celandine ! 
Prophet of delight and mirth, 
Ill requited upon earth; 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing, 
Serving at my heart’s command, 
Tasks that are no tasks renewing; 
I will sing, as doth behove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love ! 
Wordsworth. 
TO THE CROCUS. 
L OWLY, sprightly little flower ! 
C Herald of a brighter bloom, 
Bursting in a sunny hour 
From thy winter tomb. 
Hues you bring, bright, gay, and tender, 
As if never to decay ; 
Fleeting in their varied splendour — 
Soon, alas ! it fades away. 
Thus the hopes I long had cherished, 
Thus the friends I long had known, 
One by one, like you have perished, 
Blighted I must fade alone. 
Mary Patterson. 
