Floral Poetry. 
THE SNOWDROP. 
F AIR flower ! that ’midst the lingering storms and snows 
Of early Winter, and the early smile of Spring, 
Rearest thy pensile form—pale fragile thing ! 
Bending beneath each chilling blast that blows 
From the rude icy North—rough Winter throws 
Its snows upon thee ; while the Spring impearls, 
Within thy cup, its name in softest tints 
Of green. Child of two seasons ! who that knows 
Thee, loves not to behold thy graceful form 
Wooing the sunlight—shrinking from the storm ? 
Thou art the herald of a brighter time, 
Rearing thy flag on Winter’s dreary way; 
Thou com’st, like spirit from a fairer clime, 
Predicting joy ’midst death and sad decay. 
Rev. Thomas Hincks. 
THE SNOWDROP. 
S OME deem the Rose the fairest flower 
That ever bloomed near lady’s bower, 
And some the Lily of the Vale, 
Which lends its sweetness to the gale. 
But sweet and lovely though they be, 
The Snowdrop’s dearer far to me; 
And when I seek my lady’s bower, 
I’ll search the woods to find that flower. 
I’ll gently gather it, in dread 
Lest I should hurt that graceful head, 
Then bring it to my lady fair, 
And leave it in her tender care. 
Agnes R. Howell. 
