By
William Wordsworth
1819.
Lone Flower, hemmed in with
snows and white as they
But hardier far, once more
I see thee bend
Thy
forehead, as if
fearful to offend,
Like
an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay
The
rising sun, and on the
plains descend;
Yet art thou
welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose
zeal outruns his promise!
Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright
jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft
west-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy
modest grace forget,
Chaste Snowdrop, venturous
harbinger of Spring,
And
pensive monitor of
fleeting years!