FLORAL POESY. | 

THE SNOWDROP. 
MRS. ROBINSON. 
THE Snowdrop, Winter’s timid child, 
Awakes to life, bedewed with tears, 
And flings around its fragrance mild ; 
And, where no rival flowerets bloom 
Amidst the bare and chilling gloom, 
A beauteous gem appears. 
* * * Be 

Where’er I find thee, gentle flower, 
Thou still art sweet and dear to me! 
For I have known the cheerless hour, 
Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, 
Have felt the chilling wintry gale, 
And wept and shrunk lke thee. 

THE SNOWDROP. 
As Hope, with bowed head, silent stood, 
And on her golden anchor leant, 
Watching below the angry flood, 
While Winter, ’mid the dreariment 
Half-buried in the drifted snow, 
Lay sleeping on the frozen ground, 
Not heeding how the wind did blow, 
| Bitter and bleak on all around : 
She gazed on Spring, who at her feet 
Was looking at the snow and sleet, 
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