The bed of flowers Loosens amain, The beauteous snowdrops Droop o'er the plain. The crocus opens Its glowing bud, Like emeralds others, Others, like blood. With saucy gesture Primroses flare, And roguish violets, Hidden with care And whatsoever There stirs and strives, The Spring's contented, If works and thrives.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
