O snowdrops, do not rise,
Because the happy eyes
That loved you once, now underneath you lie;
Let not your buds appear,
Each seems a frozen tear,
That never drops, and yet is never dry.
Such useless tears they seem.
As in a heavy dream,
We pour about our griefs to make them grow;
When all the lights are pale,
And all the cruses fail.
And all the flowers are underneath the snow.
