I
Who has not felt his heart leap up, and glow
What time the Tulips first begin to blow,
Has one sweet joy still left for him to know.
It is like early love’s imagining,
That fragile pleasure which the Tulips bring,
When suddenly we see them, in the Spring.
Not all the garden’s later royal train,
Not great triumphant Roses, when they reign,
Can bring that delicate delight again.