And bide the winter-time in hopeful rest.
There are the hyacinths, holding ivory tips
Pointed and ready for a hint of sun;
And hooded violets, with dim, fragrant lips
Asleep and dreaming fairy dreams each one.
There lurk a myriad quick and linkèd roots,
Coiled for a spring when the ripe time is near;
The brave chrysanthemum’s pale yellow shoots
And daffodils, the vanguard of the year;
The nodding snowdrop and the columbine;