16 January. 
And thus the snow-drop, like a bow 
That spans the cloudy sky, 
Becomes a symbol whence we know 
That brighter days are nigh ; 
That circling seasons, in a race, 
That know no lagging, lingering pace, 
Shall each the other nimbly chase, 
Till Time’s departing final day 
Sweep snow-drops and the world away. 
G. W. 
THE SMALL FLOWER BURSTING ITS 
FROSTY PRISON. 
All as the hungry winter-starved earth, 
Where she by nature labours towards her birth. 
Still as the day upon the dark world creeps, 
One blossom forth after another peeps, 
Till the small flower, whose root is now unbound. 
Gets from the frosty prison of the ground, 
Spreading the leaves unto the powerful noon, 
Deck’d in fresh colours, smiles upon the Sun. 
Dray ton. 
