Singing , in color-tones, of flower-flags furled —
Soft threnody of seasons dead and gone —
One little plant looks out upon the world
And wonders at the silence of the lawn.
All hesitant, its buds wait for the sun —
Potential oriflammes, close-sheathed from light —
Watching for morn, when Winter's course has run,
And radiant Dawn shall drive away the Night.
Here in a window — patient — joyous — gay —
It never loses hope, day after day.

Clean as young love — as sweet as unhurt hope,
Insisting through pure faith that Spring is near ...
Outside, the worried pussy-willows grope
And murmur, " Late! So late again, this year! "
Belief that wavers not — that grows, in truth,
And builds upon a dream that will not wake;
A flower that breathes the joy of golden Youth —
Living through days unloved, for Someone's sake!
You're just a tiny touch of Spring, and yet —
You make Her smile at Winter ... and forget!