228 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE NORTH-WIND AND THE 
SNOW-DROP. 
Wirs fury arm’d, a northern blast 
Once o’er our cottage garden pass’d, 
Roaring as if its errand there 
Had been, with ruthless haste, to tear 
From earth each embryo bud or flower, 
It bore in that tempestuous hour, 

A snow-drop, which had cast aside, 
That morn, that veil which strove to hide 
Its humble beauties, from the ground 
Foretold, while tempests yet were round 
That winter soon would lose its power. 
The blast perceived the prophet flower; 
And thus, like one provok’d and stung, 
By bitter truth from dauntless tongue, 
To headlong wrath, in words that made 
The snow-drop tremble, rudely said, 
“What dost thou here, intrusive guest ? 
Wither and die! the tulip, drest, 
By nature, in her richest hues; 
And clustering roses, which diffuse 
Lhe sweetest fragrance, here display 
Their varied charms ; and, not less gay, 
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