68 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Trembling on its slender stalk, 
The floweret is seen, 
Half hiding its pale blossom, 
’Mid its leaves of green. 
Pretty little snowdrop, 
Earliest of flowers, 
Roses they are very fair, 
Grown in summer bowers : 
But the rose in glowing beauty 
Is not dear to me, 
Snowdrop, as thy blossoms white 
Have been, and will be. 
Yet a lesson we may learn, 
Snowdrop of the vale! 
From thy leaflets trembling so 
In the winter gale; S 
Wherefore do we prize thee 
With thy blossoms wan ? 
Is’t not that they come whispering, 
Winter time is gone! 
A promise of a coming good, 
The treasures of the spring, 
To hearts that ache at winter’s cold 
Thy fragile flowerets bring. 
So in those the disregarded, 
The lowly ones of earth, 
Snowdrop, as in thee we find 
Whisperings of worth. E. St ewart. 
