Celia Thaxter

Jun 29, 1835 - Aug 25, 1894

 

Crocus

by Celia Thaxter

Oh the dear, delightful sound
Of the drops that to the ground
From the eaves rejoicing run
In the February sun!
Drip, drip, drip, they slide and slip
From the icicles' bright tip,
Till they melt the sullen snow
On the garden bed below.
Bless me! what is all this drumming?
Cries the crocus, I am coming!
Pray don't knock so long and loud,
For I'm neither cross nor proud.
But a little sleepy still,
With the winter's lingering chill.
Never mind! 'T is time to wake,
Through the dream at last to break!

'Tis as quickly done as said,
Up she thrusts her golden head,
Looks about with radiant eyes
In a kind of shy surprise,
Tries to say in accents surly,
Well! you called me very early!
But she lights with such a smile
All the darksome place the while,
Every heart begins to stir
Joyfully at sight of her;
Every creature grows more gay
Looking in her face to-day.
She is greeted, Welcome, dear!
Fresh smile of the hopeful year!
First bright print of Spring's light feet,
Golden crocus, welcome, sweet!

And she whispers, looking up
From her richly glowing cup,
At the sunny eaves so high
Overhead against the sky,
Now I' ve come, O sparkling drops,
All your clattering, pattering stops.
And I'm very glad I came,
And you 're not the least to blame
That you hammered at the snow
Till you wakened me below
With your one incessant tune.
I'm not here a bit too soon!

Source:

Poems For Children
Copyright 1883
Houghton, Mifflin and Company, Boston
Illustrator: Miss A. G. Plymptom
 
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