The Snow-Drop

Hail earliest of the opening flowers!
  Fair Harbinger of vernal hours!
  Who dar'st unveil each silken fold
  Ere Sol dispels the wintry cold,
  And with thy silver leaves display'd
  Spread lustre through the dreary glade —
  What though no fragrance like the rose
  Tincturing the Zephyr as it blows,
  Thy humble flowers from earth exhale
  To scent the pinions of the gale;
  What though no hues of gaudy dye
  Strike with their dazzling charms the eye, 
  Nor does thy sober foliage shew
  Each blended tint of Iris' bow;
  Yet in thy meek unsullied grace
  Imagination's eye shall trace
  The glowing blossoms that appear
  Proudly to paint the vernal year,
  And smiling Maia's blushing dyes,
  And jocund Summer's cloudless skies,
  And Autumn's labors which succeed
  To bid the purple vintage bleed,
  Our hopes anticipating see
  Led on in radiant train by thee.