I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing robin, sing:
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The bed of flowers
The beauteous snowdrops
Droop o’er the plain.
The crocus opens
Its glowing bud,
Like emeralds others,
Others, like blood.
With saucy gesture
And roguish violets,
Hidden with care;
There stirs and strives,
The Spring’s contented,
If works and thrives.
A lovelier blossom
lights the gloom,
That timid fears impart.
The heaven-fed flower of Purity;
Oh! nurse the snowdrop still!
And in it’s breath, a charm shall be,
To guard thee from all ill
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
So Spring comes merry towards me here, but earns
No answering smile from me, whose life is twin’d
With the dead boughs that winter still must bind,
And whom today the Spring no more concerns.
Behold, this crocus is a withering flame;
This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom’s part
To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent’s art.
Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them,
Nor stay till on the year’s last lily-stem
The white cup shrivels round the golden heart.
Hope you have a great day!