





THE FOETRY GF FLOWERS. 
TO A CROCUS.* 
BY BERNARD BARTOR, 
Weccome, wild harbinger of spring ! 
To this small nook of earth ; 
Feeling and fancy fondly cling 
Round thoughts ane owe their birth 
To thee, and to the humble spot 
Where chance has fix’d thy lowly lot. 
To thee,—for thy rich golden bloom, 
Like heaven’s fair bow on high, 
Portends, amid surrounding gloom, 
‘That brighter hours draw nigh, 
When blossoms of more varied dyes 
Shall ope their tints to warmer skies. 
Yet not the lily, nor the rose, 
Though fairer far they be, 
Can more delightful thoughts disclose 
Than I derive from thee: 
The eye their beauty may prefer; 
The heart is thy interpreter ! 
Meth es in hy fair flower is seen, 
By those whose fancies roam, 
® Gi wing up and blossoming beneath a wall flower 























