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Show er HE. CROCUS. In cLeltereA corners and eha&y placa The wasting snows of the winter Us, But there is a token of coming roses In the tender pink of the sunset sky. Above the dusk of the windy forest The young March moon is silvery cold. Come, love, and lean on the gate beside jea. And I will tell you a legend old. A Jealous wizard with whitened tresses Beheld a maiden with yellow Lair, And seized her form in his frosty fingers. And bore her far to his icy lair. He bound her fast iu a sleep enchanted. And hid her deep in a crave of gloom. Till over the purple Beas came sailing A slender prince, with a pale green plate. From the withered grass and earth abov her He brushed the wreaths of the snow aside Aud bIcw the wizard, whose name was Winter, Win-ter, And she rose from the tomb to be his bride. Liok! There she stands by the broken lrelli Where budding sprays of the ivy clinjj, I'or the captive maid was the golden crocuai Her gallant lovc-r, the prince, is Spring! -tliuna Irving in Worthington's Magazine, |