trinkie
08-Feb-08, 19:30
Crocuses. by John W MacLeod
From the CC 1951
Crocuses, sweet crocuses!
Firstlings of the Spring!
When I behold your shining gold
My heart begins to sing!
Here about the beech tree,
Springing from the mould
Where willow droops you rise in groups
Purple, white and gold.
How I love you, darlings,
While the snows depart,
For her dear sake for whom I wake,
The treasures of my heart.
Purple for my lady,
I with joy adore,
For she is queen in heart and mien,
My love-queen evermore.
White for all her tender
Thoughts of love for me,
As pure as snow, that, ‘lighting low’
Transfigures fern and tree.
Gold for love and honour,
And her faith sincere
From mine heart can never part,
Thro’ changing clime or year.
Crocuses, sweet crocuses!
Ye are emblem still
Of that sweet hope whose petals ope’
And this poor heart doth fill.
Yellow for the miser
Purple for the King
And there’s the white of true delight
For all who love the spring.
From the CC 1951
Crocuses, sweet crocuses!
Firstlings of the Spring!
When I behold your shining gold
My heart begins to sing!
Here about the beech tree,
Springing from the mould
Where willow droops you rise in groups
Purple, white and gold.
How I love you, darlings,
While the snows depart,
For her dear sake for whom I wake,
The treasures of my heart.
Purple for my lady,
I with joy adore,
For she is queen in heart and mien,
My love-queen evermore.
White for all her tender
Thoughts of love for me,
As pure as snow, that, ‘lighting low’
Transfigures fern and tree.
Gold for love and honour,
And her faith sincere
From mine heart can never part,
Thro’ changing clime or year.
Crocuses, sweet crocuses!
Ye are emblem still
Of that sweet hope whose petals ope’
And this poor heart doth fill.
Yellow for the miser
Purple for the King
And there’s the white of true delight
For all who love the spring.