I'll not despair, nor be idle, nor frown;
Though locked in so gloomy a dwelling!
My leaves shall shoot up, while my root's running down,
And the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get off from my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,
I will peer up, with my bright little head;
All will be joyful to see me!
Then from my heart will young petals diverge,
Like rays of the sun from their focus;
When I from the darkness of earth shall emerge,
All complete, as a beautiful CROCUS!
Gayly arrayed in gold, crimson, and green,
When to their view I have risen;
Will they not wonder how one so serene
Came from so dismal a prison?
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower
A wise little lesson may borrow:--
If patient to-day through the dreariest hour,
We shall come out the brighter to-morrow!
=The Bee, Clover, and Thistle=
A bee from the hive one morning flew,
A tune to the daylight humming;
And away she went o'er the sparkling dew,
Where the grass was green, the violet blue,
And the gold of the sun was coming.
And what first tempted the roving Bee,
Was a head of the crimson clover.
"I've found a treasure betimes!" said she,
"And perhaps a greater I might not see,
If I travelled the field all over.
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