Eliza Allen Starr (1824–1901)

BRAVE little wilding, herald of the Spring!

First of the beauteous tribes that soon will troop

Singly, in pairs, or in a joyous group,

O’er sunny slope or sheltered bank; or cling,

By their slight fibres, where the blue-bird’s wing

Alone can visit them with graceful swoop!

The wise man pauses on his walk, to stoop

Above your purple blossoms; for you bring

To his worn cheek a pleased and gentle smile;

Still saying softly to himself, the while:

How things most tender are the first to rise

From wintry sleep; thus taking by surprise

The sturdy oaks! Hearts, too, shy without guile,

Wing, often, boldest flight towards pathless skies!