8 
THE POETRY C¥ FLOWERS. 
TO A SNOW-DROP. 
BY LANGHORNE. 
Poets still, in graceful numbers, 
May the glowing roses choose ; 
But the snow-drop’s simple beauty 
Better suits an humble muse. 
Earliest bud that decks the garden, 
Fairest of the fragrant race, 
First-born child of vernal Flora, 
Seeking mild thy lowly place ; 
Though no warm or murmuring zephyt 
Fan thy leaves with balmy wing, 
Pleased we hail thee, spotless blossom, 
Herald of the infant spring. 
Through the cold and cheerless season 
Soft thy tender form expands, 
Safe in unaspiring graces, 
Foremost of the blooming bands. 
White-robed flower, in lonely beauty, 
Rising from a wintry bed ; 
hilling winds, and blasts ungenial, 
Rudely threat’ning round thy head, 


