So Spring comes merry towards me here, but earns
No answering smile from me, whose life is twind
With the dead boughs that winter still must bind,
And whom today the Spring no more concerns.
Behold, this crocus is a withering flame;
This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossoms part
To breed the fruit that breeds the serpents art.
Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them,
Nor stay till on the years last lily-stem
The white cup shrivels round the golden heart.
Submitted By: nick
In Category: April Fool
Added On: Monday, March 31, 2008