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The crocus

Language: English

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]

Authorship


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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