The Crocus Bed
YELLOW as the noonday sun,
Purple as a day that’s done,
White as mist that lingers pale
On the edge of morning’s veil,
Delicate as love’s first kiss—
Crocuses are just like this.
Ere the robin paints his breast,
Ere the daffodil is drest,
Ere the iris’ lovely head
Waves above her perfumed bed
Comes the crocus—and the Spring
Follows after, wing on wing!
Sweet perfection, holding up
Magic dew in topaz cup,
Alabaster, amethyst—
Curling lips which Earth has kissed,
Folded hearts where secrets hide,
Secrets old when Eve was bride!
Beauty’s soul was born with wings,
Flight inspires all lovely things—
Would you gather rainbow fire?
See the rose of dawn’s desire
Turn to ash beneath the moon?—
Crocuses must leave us soon.