Explore "The Crocuses" by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They heard the South wind sighing / A murmur of the rain; / And they knew that Earth was longing / To see them all again.
While the snow-drops still were sleeping / Beneath the silent sod; / They felt their new life pulsing / Within the dark, cold clod.
Not a daffodil nor daisy / Had dared to raise its head; / Not a fair-haired dandelion / Peeped timid from its bed; / Though a tremor of the winter / Did shivering through them run; / Yet they lifted up their foreheads / To greet the vernal sun.
And the sunbeams gave them welcome, / As did the morning air -- / And scattered o'er their simple robes / Rich tints of beauty rare.
Soon a host of lovely flowers / From vales and woodland burst; / But in all that fair procession / The crocuses were first.
First to weave for Earth a chaplet / To crown her dear old head; / And to beautify the pathway / Where winter still did tread.
And their loved and white haired mother / Smiled sweetly 'neath the touch, / When she knew her faithful children / Were loving her so much.