And, while it thawed, harder and harder, and the coat of snow grew thinner every day, Spring stood on the edge of the wood and bowed to the earth and sang:
My little snowdrop, gentle sprite,
Thy heart was ever brave and bright.
Not once it faltered, pierced with fright,
At Winter’s white wrath bleeding.
Under Spring’s song, a hundred snowdrops burst from the ground and shone forth white and green. They nodded their heavy heads; and Spring nodded to them. But then he went on, till he stopped again, farther away, and sang:
And quick, each tiny crocus, too,
Put on your frocks of daintiest hue,
Frocks yellow, white and dusky-blue,
In full first clusters leading!