The Snow-drop.

Now the spring is coming on,

Now the snow and ice are gone,

Come, my little snow-drop root,

Will you not begin to shoot?

Ah! I see your little head

Peeping on my flower-bed,

Looking all so green and gay

On this fine and pleasant day.

For the mild south wind doth blow,

And hath melted all the snow,

And the sun shines out so warm,

You need not fear another storm.

So your pretty flower shew,

And your leaves of white undo,

Then you’ll hang your modest head,

Down upon my flower-bed.