she cried, and stretched out her hands over a little crocus flower, which hung down quite sick and pale.

There was an arrogant bird in the elm; there were pert crocus-buds in the window-boxes.

Every thing reminds me of that day: these might be the same crocus-clumps, as those that last year frightened away winter with their purple and gold banners.

The Secret IF I should tell you what I know Of where the first primroses grow, Betray the secrets of the lily, Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly, Would you tell me if charm there be To win a maiden, willy-nilly?