THE CROCUS—CHILDHOOD. 
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. 
The leaf betokened freedom nigh 
To mournful captives there; 
Thy flower foretells a summer sky, 
And chides the dark despair, 
By winter’s chilling influence flung 
O’er spirits sunk, and nerves unstrung. 
And sweetly has kind Nature’s hand 
Assigned thy dwelling-place 
Beneath a flower whose blooms expand 
With fond congenial grace, 
On many a desolated pile. 
Brightening decay with beauty’s smile. 
Thine is the flower of hope, whose hue 
Is bright with coming joy; 
The wall-flower’s that of faith, too true 
For ruin to destroy :— 
And where, 0 where, should hope up-spring, 
But under faith’s protecting wing? 
Barton. 
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