Classic Poem

And the snow was lifted into the air
Layer by layer,
And turn'd into vast white clouds that flew
Silent and fleet, by the breezes driven
Over aëry chasms of fathomless blue
In the rainy depth of an April heaven.
From eaves and leaves the quivering dew
Sparkled off; and the rich earth, black and bare,
Was starr'd with snowdrops everywhere,
And the crocus upturn'd its flame, and burn'd
Here and there.
“The Summer,” she said, “cometh blithe and bold;
And the crocus is lit for her welcoming:
And the days will have garments of purple and gold;
But I would be left by the pale green Spring
With the snowdrops somewhere under the mould;
For I dare not think what the Summer may bring.”