TO THE SNOW-DROP. 77 
Nor from yon river islet wild 
Beneath the willow spray, 
Where, like the ringlets of a child, 
Thou wear’st thy circle gay ; 
’Tis not for these 1 love thee dear— 
Thy shy averted smiles 
To fancy bode a joyous year, 
One of life’s fairy isles. 
They twinkle to the wintry moon, 
And cheer the ungenial day. 
And tell us all will glisten soon 
As green and bright as they. 
Is there a heart, that loves the spring, 
Their witness can refuse ? 
Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring 
From heaven their Easter news: 
When holy maids and matrons speak 
Of Christ’s forsaken bed, 
And voices, that forbid to seek 
The living ’mid the dead; 
And when they say, “ Turn, wandering 
heart, 
“ Thy Lord is risen indeed, 
“ Let pleasure go, put care apart, 
“ And to his presence speed 
