Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/337

211 Pale Autumn's purple Crocus, seem

Than other flowers more dear.

I meet it on the cold bleak hill

When sunshine there is none,

And all the Summer darlings have

Departed, every one.

I look upon its outward form

So delicate and frail;

And wonder how so slight a thing

May breast the boisterous gale.

But it is humble; o'er its head

The blast that reuds the oak

Passes all harmless, though the flower

A fairy's foot had broke.

I gaze into its vaselike cup

Of amethyst, where low

A star of deep rich gold doth round

Fling a warm yellow glow.

Hid from the spendthrift breeze, the flowers

Their wealth all meekly keep,

Till they who know the treasure's worth

The golden harvest reap.