The crocus, while the days are dark,
Unfolds its saffron sheen;
At April's touch the crudest bark
Discovers gems of green.
Then sleep the seasons, full of might;
While slowly swells the pod
And rounds the peach, and in the night
The mushroom bursts the sod.
The winter falls; the frozen rut
Is bound with silver bars;
The snowdrift heaps against the hut,
And night is pierced with stars.
I was taught this poem in school more than sixty years ago. I am now teaching it to my granddaughter. She loves it as I do after all those years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful rythem..great poem..