by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918)

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. 

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website: 2009-06-17 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:15
Line count: 8
Word count: 61