They sip, and find their honey-dreams are vain,
Then feebly hasten to their hives again.
The butterflies, by eager hopes undone,
Glad as a child come out to greet the sun;
Beneath the shadow of a sudden shower,
Are lost—nor see to-morrow’s April flower.
The gardens are now beginning to be studded by the crocus —
“The flower of Hope, whose hue
Is bright with coming joy,”
the varieties of which adorn the borders with a rich mixture of yellow and purple. The little shrubs of mezereon are in their beauty. The fields begin to be clothed with the springing grass, and but few flowers appear to decorate their velvet mounds. The flowers of Spring have been favorite themes for the poets. Shakspeare represents Perdita as desirous to present to her guests