Janet Hamilton

1795-1873 / Scotland

Lines On The Snowdrop

Sweet, modest, pensive, tender flower,
Though snow-drifts rise and storm-clouds lower
Above thy gentle drooping head,
And chill thee on thy frozen bed-
Though oft thy pure, pale face appears
Bedewed with cold and freezing tears,
Soon from thy lids the god of day
Shall kiss the chilling drops away,
And crown thy green and slender stems
With stainless wreath of pearly gems.
Chaste, virgin flower, first-born of Spring,
Thou purest, fairest, loveliest thing,
Herald of all the coming flowers
That star the meads and deck the bowers;
Yet when sweet May comes crowned with blossom,
Thou hid'st thee in thy mother's bosom,
And when bright June spreads out her roses,
In earth's maternal lap reposes.
Emblem of innocence, in vain
The howling winds and beating rain
Shall wildly sweep thy wintry bed;
Again thy beauteous, graceful head,
Unsoiled, unsullied, shall arise
In meek devotion to the skies.
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