‘’The bed of flowers
Loosens amain,
The beauteous snowdrops
Droop o’er the plain.
The crocus opens
Its glowing bud,
Like emeralds others,
Others, like blood.
With saucy gesture
Primroses flare,
And roguish violets,
Hidden with care;
And whatsoever
There stirs and strives,
The Spring’s contented,
If works and thrives.’

Goethe