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The snow-drop timidly looked out,
But all was dim and drear,
Save robin's merry song, that sought
Her loneliness to cheer.
And presently the crocus heard
Their greeting, and awoke,
And donned with care her golden robe
And em'rald-coloured cloak;
And, springing from her russet shroud,
Stepped forth to meet the sun,
Who broke the clouds with one bright glance,
And his jocund race begun.
The crocus brought her sisters, too,
The purple, pied, and white;
And the red-breast warbled merrily
Above the flowerets bright.
Oh! the nightingale may love the rose,
The lark the summer's heather;
But the robin's consort-flow'rs come
And brave the wintry weather.
