<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117610" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Crocus</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">An' so ye ‘ve oped your leaves at last—<br>I ‘ve often pitied ye, when fast<br>The drivin’ snaw has o'er ye past,<br>Puir bonnie thing,<br>Ye dared too soon the moody blast,<br>This damp cauld spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye ‘ve lifted up your gou'den head,<br>Too soon from off its wintry bed,<br>When late the faithless sunshine shed,<br>A saft warm gleam,<br>Then left ye, ere your leaves could spread,<br>Beneath its beam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sic’ is the hapless doom of those<br>Round whom her chain stern slavery throws,<br>Wha, born to naught but wrongs and woes,<br>An’ mony a tear,<br>Find storms and gloom around them close,<br>In life's young year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But o'er ye now the brightening sky<br>Is bending wi’ a milder eye,<br>A safter breeze your buds will dry,<br>An’ fan your bloom;<br>O'er them oppression's clouds still lie<br>In murky gloom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet e'en for them, a feeble light<br>Seems breaking o'er the horizon's night,<br>Distant, and faint, yet palely bright,<br>Wi’ hope's blest beam,<br>Telling that soon across their sight<br>'T will broadly gleam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117610" data-title="To A Crocus de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="An' so ye ‘ve oped your leaves at last—/I ‘ve often pitied ye, when fast/The drivin’ snaw has o'er ye past,/Puir bonnie thing,/Ye dared too soon the moody blast,/This damp cauld spring./Ye ‘ve lifted up your gou'den head,/Too soon from o..."></div> </div> </div>

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