poem index

sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox

About this Poem 

“The Crocuses” was published in Poems (C.S. Ferguson, 1895).

The Crocuses

They heard the South wind sighing
    A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
    To see them all again.
 
While the snow-drops still were sleeping
    Beneath the silent sod;
They felt their new life pulsing
    Within the dark, cold clod.
 
Not a daffodil nor daisy
    Had dared to raise its head;
Not a fairhaired dandelion
    Peeped timid from its bed;
 
Though a tremor of the winter
    Did shivering through them run;
Yet they lifted up their foreheads
    To greet the vernal sun.
 
And the sunbeams gave them welcome,
    As did the morning air—
And scattered o’er their simple robes
    Rich tints of beauty rare.
 
Soon a host of lovely flowers
    From vales and woodland burst;
But in all that fair procession
    The crocuses were first.
 
First to weave for Earth a chaplet
    To crown her dear old head;
And to beauty the pathway
    Where winter still did tread.
 
And their loved and white haired mother
    Smiled sweetly ’neath the touch,
When she knew her faithful children
    Were loving her so much.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on September 9, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

 

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on September 9, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

 

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper was born on September 24, 1825. She was a prominent abolitionist and temperance and women's suffrage activist, as well as a poet. 

by this poet

poem
The dying words of Goethe.
 
"Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
   And my life is ebbing low,
Throw the windows widely open:
   Light! more light! before I go."
 
"Softly let the balmy sunshine
   Play around my dying bed,
poem
God bless our native land,
    Land of the newly free,
 Oh may she ever stand
    For truth and liberty.
 
 God bless our native land,
    Where sleep our kindred dead,
 Let peace at thy command
    Above their graves be shed.
poem
When the gates of pearl are opened
     May we there this friend behold,
 Drink with him from living fountains,
     Walk with him the streets of gold.
 
 When life's shattered cords of music
     Shall again be sweetly sung;
 Then our hearts