Follow with May’s fairest flowers.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792–1822.
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM
ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY.
Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem,
Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and gazed on thee
With blue, voluptuous eye); alas, poor flower!
These are but flatteries of the faithless year,