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Baby Lies So Fast Asleep

Baby lies so fast asleep
That we cannot wake her:
Will the angels clad in white
Fly from heaven to take her?
Baby lies so fast asleep
That no pain can grieve her;
Put a snowdrop in her hand,
Kiss her once and leave her.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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This Peach Is Pink With Such a Pink

This peach is pink with such a pink
As suits the peach divinely;
The cunning colour rarely spread
Fades to the yellow finely;
But where to spy the truest pink
Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think.

The snowdrop, child of windy March,
Doth glory in her whiteness;
Her golden neighbours, crocuses,
Unenvious praise her brightness!
But I do know where, out of sight,
My sweetheart keeps a warmer white.

poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Seasonal Hiakus

SEASONAL HIAKUS

Summer

Days stretch out their arms
Spirits lift with rising sun
Bare feet in the sand

Autumn

Leave are falling down
Small Wellington-booted feet
Kick them through the town

Winter

Not a time of death

[...] Read more

poem by Lesley Diane Sutherland
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Winter is getting on for the end

Grey snow,
flooded by the rays of sun,
thaws slowly,
in the rhythm of the spring birds music,
letting the earth
without its counterpane.

A snowdropp ventures
to raise its shoulders
over the little snow
that remained.

A snowdropp penetrates hardly
through the snow
that allows the snowdrop
to get a place,
and that bows
before a prince of spring.

From now on, winter

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poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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Out of Superstition

A box of glazed sour fruit compact,
My narrow room.
And oh the grime of lodging rooms
This side the tomb!

This cubbyhole, out of superstition,
I chose once more.
The walls seem dappled oaks; the door,
A singing door.

You strove to leave; my hand was steady
Upon the latch.
My forelock touched a wondrous forehead;
My lips felt violets.

O Sweet! Your dress as on a day
Not long ago
To April, like a snowdrop, chirps
A gay 'Hello!'

[...] Read more

poem by Boris Pasternak
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Snowdrops

They're to be seen across the north,
From frozen ground they will sprout forth,
Of nature we see a rebirth,
Seeds of life hid within the earth,
At last winter is to depart,
For the spring months are soon to start,
Flowers that are the most pure white,
Shall always be a pleasing sight,
Undeterred should there still be frost,
Flowers will open at all cost,
The snowdrop's beauty shines the most,
In a month that's a bitter host,
In woods darted about the place,
Bringing smiles to many a face,
For our countryside they do bless,
bringing about scenes that impress.

poem by Christian Lacdael
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Holy Ground

Shy maids have haunts of still delight,
The lover glades he never tells;
And one is mine where mass the bright
And odoured chimes of foxglove-bells.

A dewy, covert, silent place
Where surely long ago God walked
Close to His creature's blinded face,
And for his finer moulding talked.

There hawthorn glows as if, white-hot,
God present, it were sacred found
To preach a creed too oft forgot--
That all we tread is holy ground.

Ah, could we but remember this,
Our thoughts would spring as purely up
To labour for our fellows' bliss
As doth to heaven a snowdrop's cup!

poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Spring in New Zealand

Thou wilt come with suddenness,
Like a gull between the waves,
Or a snowdrop that doth press
Through the white shroud on the graves;
Like a love too long withheld,
That at last has over-welled.

What if we have waited long,
Brooding by the Southern Pole,
Where the towering icebergs throng,
And the inky surges roll:
What can all their terror be
When thy fond winds compass thee?

They shall blow through all the land
Fragrance of thy cloudy throne,
Underneath the rainbow spanned
Thou wilt enter in thine own,
And the glittering earth shall shine
Where thy footstep is divine

poem by Hubert Church
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The first unsullied snowdrop

Love; what flower do you most aspire?
Love; what flower should I most admire?
Red peonie's with "lustful conduit desire
Purple" crocuses cupped with fire.

Or the now pink foreign ragged robin,
Breathless; rolling on… that country, common.
I "sprig of green moist" Solomon's seal,
You a single rose bud so genteel.

Love; what flower should I mostly aspire?
Love: what flowers do you mostly require?
Be it the fox gloves fleshy advancing spire
Or the honey suckles tendrils of wire…

Or be you simply May times forget-me-not
Still better the first unsullied snowdrop.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Sonnet - To Tartar, a Terrier Beauty

Snowdrop of dogs, with ear of brownest dye,
Like the last orphan leaf of naked tree
Which shudders in black autumn; though by thee,
Of hearing careless and untutored eye,
Not understood articulate speech of men
Nor marked the artificial mind of books,
-The mortal's voice eternized by the pen,-
Yet hast thou thought and language all unknown
To Babel's scholars; oft intensest looks,
Long scrutiny over some dark-veined stone
Dost thou bestow, learning dead mysteries
Of the world's birth-day, oft in eager tone
With quick-tailed fellows bandiest prompt replies,
Solicitudes canine, four-footed amities.

poem by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
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