Brave crocus, out of time and rash,
You come when skies are all amort and chill ;
Too soon to find how cruel hail can dash,
And bitter winds can kill.
You are like early loves, most sure,
Which die so soon in this world's nipping air ;
Your mission like to theirs, not to endure,
But to make springtime fair.
Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website: 2009-06-17.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:15
Line count: 8
Word count: 61
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