By Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
They heard the South wind sighing
A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
To see them all again…
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.