On Finding the Anemone Hepatica, the Earliest Flower of Spring

Beside a fading bank of snow
A lovely Anemone blew,
Unfolding to the sun's bright glow
Its leaves of heaven's serenest hue;

The snowy stamens gemmed them o'er,
The pleasing contrast caught my eye,
As on the ocean's sandy shore
The purple shells and corals lie.

I saw the flower,—what tumults rose
Within my heart, what ecstasy!
The captive soul no brighter glows,
When hailing life and liberty.

'Tis Spring, I cried, pale Winter's fled,
The earliest wreath of flowers is blown;
The blossoms withered long and dead
Will soon proclaim their tyrant flown.

How smiles the sun in yonder sky,
How pure the vault of ether swells,
How sweet to hear on mountain high
The tinkle of the shepherd-bells!

The meadows don their green array,
The streams in purer currents flow;
On sunny knolls the lambkins play,
And sport amid the vales below.

The humble Anemone blows,
The blue-bird now is on the wing;
How soon will breathe the blushing rose,
How soon will all around be spring!
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