THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 225 
TO THE SNOW-DROP. 
BY KEBLE. 
T'nov first-born of the years’ delight, 
Pride of the dewy glade, 
In vernal green and virgin white, 
Thy vestal robes, array’d: 
"Tis not because thy drooping form 
Sinks grateful on its nest, 
When chilly shades from gathering storm 
Affright thy tender breast ; 
Nor from yon river islet wild 
Beneath the willow spray, 
Where, like the ringlets of a child, 
Thou wear’st thy circle gay ; 
’Tis not for these I love thee dear,— 
Thy shy averted smiles 
To fancy bode a joyous year 
One of life’s fairy isles. 
They twinkle to the wintry moon, 
And cheer the ungenial day, 
And tell us all will glisten soon 
3 green and bright ag they 


