4 o 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
TO A CROCUS 
BLOOMING BENEATH A WALLFLOWER. 
BARTON. 
Welcome, wild harbinger of spring ! 
To this small nook of earth • 
Feeling and fancy fondly cling 
Round thoughts which owe their birth 
To thee, and to the humble spot 
Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot. 
To thee,—for thy rich golden bloom, 
Like heaven’s fair bow on high, 
Portends, amid surrounding gloom, 
That brighter hours draw nigh, 
When blossoms of more varied dyes 
Shall ope their tints to warmer skies. 
Yet not the lily, nor the rose, 
Though fairer far they be, 
Can more delightful thoughts disclose 
Than I derive from thee : 
The eye their beauty may prefer; 
The heart is thy interpreter ! 
Methinks in thy fair flower is seen, 
By those whose fancies roam, 
An emblem of that leaf of green 
The faithful dove brought home, 
When o’er the world of waters dark 
Were driven the inmates of the ark. 
That leaf betokened freedom nigh 
To mournful captives there; 
