Classic Poem

Have you heard the tiny trumpets
That the little freesias blow
When the whimsies of the winter
Toss in whirlwinds of the snow?

Only pure and gentle spirits
Can the dainty music hear
When the freesia blows her trumpets
In the morning of the year;

But the faint and dulcet voices
Drifting to the heavens above
Murmur with harmonious gladness
Raptures of a lyric love;

And their breath is rich as Eden,
Making all the flowery air
Like a summer in a forest
Or the incense of a prayer.