 | Sketches of Natural History |  |
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THE WILD SPRING-CROCUS.
Ah, though it is an English flower,
It only groweth here and there:
Through merry England you might ride;
Through all its length, from side to side;
Through fifty counties, nor have spied
This flower so passing fair.
It only groweth here and there:
Through merry England you might ride;
Through all its length, from side to side;
Through fifty counties, nor have spied
This flower so passing fair.
But in our meadows it is growing,
And now it is the early Spring;
And see from out the kindly earth
How thousand thousands issue forth,
As if it gloried to give birth
To such a lovely thing.
And now it is the early Spring;
And see from out the kindly earth
How thousand thousands issue forth,
As if it gloried to give birth
To such a lovely thing.
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Like lilac-flame its colour glows,
Tender, and yet so clearly bright,
That all for miles and miles about,
The splendid meadow shineth out;
And far-off village children shout
To see the welcome sight.
Tender, and yet so clearly bright,
That all for miles and miles about,
The splendid meadow shineth out;
And far-off village children shout
To see the welcome sight.
I love the odorous Hawthorn flower,
I love the Wilding's bloom to see;
I love the light Anemonies.
That tremble to the faintest breeze;
And hyacinth-like Orchises,
Are very dear to me!
I love the Wilding's bloom to see;
I love the light Anemonies.
That tremble to the faintest breeze;
And hyacinth-like Orchises,
Are very dear to me!
The Star-wort is a fairy-flower;
The Violet is a thing to prize;
The Wild-pink on the craggy ledge;
The waving sword-like Water-sedge,
And e'en the Robin-run-i'th'-hedge,
Are precious in mine eyes.
The Violet is a thing to prize;
The Wild-pink on the craggy ledge;
The waving sword-like Water-sedge,
And e'en the Robin-run-i'th'-hedge,
Are precious in mine eyes.
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Yes, yes I love them all, bright things!
But then, such glorious flowers as these
Are dearer still—I'll tell you why,
There's joy in many a thousand eye
When first goes forth the welcome cry,
Of “lo, the Crocuses!”
But then, such glorious flowers as these
Are dearer still—I'll tell you why,
There's joy in many a thousand eye
When first goes forth the welcome cry,
Of “lo, the Crocuses!”
Then little, toiling children leave
Their care, and here by thousands throng,
And through the shining meadow run,
And gather them, not one by one,
But by grasped handfuls, where are none
To say that they do wrong.
Their care, and here by thousands throng,
And through the shining meadow run,
And gather them, not one by one,
But by grasped handfuls, where are none
To say that they do wrong.
They run, they leap, they shout for joy;
They bring their infant brethren here;
They fill each little pinafore;
They bear their baskets brimming o'er;
Within their very hearts they store
This first joy of the year.
They bring their infant brethren here;
They fill each little pinafore;
They bear their baskets brimming o'er;
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This first joy of the year.
Yes, joy in these abundant meadows
Pours out like to the earth's o'erflowing;
And, less that they are beautiful,
Than that they are so plentiful,
So free for every child to pull,
I love to see them growing.
Pours out like to the earth's o'erflowing;
And, less that they are beautiful,
Than that they are so plentiful,
So free for every child to pull,
I love to see them growing.
And here, in our own fields they grow—
An English flower, but very rare;
Through all the kingdom you may ride,
O'er marshy flat, on mountain side,
Nor ever see, outstretching wide,
Such flowery meadows fair!
An English flower, but very rare;
Through all the kingdom you may ride,
O'er marshy flat, on mountain side,
Nor ever see, outstretching wide,
Such flowery meadows fair!
| Sketches of Natural History | |