The Crocus's SoliloquyDown in my solitude under the snow,
Where nothing cheering can reach me;
Here, without light to see how to grow,
I'll trust to nature to teach me.
I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown,
Lock'd in so gloomy a dwelling;
My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down,
While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,
I will peer up with my little bright head;
All will be joyful to see me.
Then from my heart will young petals diverge,
As rays of the sun from their focus;
I from the darkness of earth will emerge,
A happy and beautiful crocus.
Gaily array'd in my yellow and green,
When to their view I have risen,
Will they not wonder that one so serene
Came from so dismal a prison?
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower
This little lesson may borrow -
Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour,
We come out the brighter to-morrow.
(Hannah Flagg Gould http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-crocus-s-soliloquy/)
I really like this poem, it sums up the crocus, the 'happy and beautiful crocus' so well.
Is it possible not to look at a crocus flowering away in the Spring sun and not smile? Even more than the much adored snowdrop, there is something about the colour and brightness of a crocus that makes my heart sing. Also they are so good for insects, you can see the pollen that is so abundant it has fallen onto the petals.
I usually plant some every year, (I missed last autumn for no good reason), and I can tell which of the age of the crocus I am looking at almost from the colour of it. The orange and purple ones are from the first sowing about five years ago.
The cream and pearlescent are from a couple of years ago.
I also have these in a pot this year, beaming away by the front door.
This patch is in the gravel garden. I planted three, now I have many, they make me happy.
Oh yes, the crocus is a wonderful thing and manages to get flowering quickly before the larger daffodils come along and steal the show. The crocus times its moment, it refuses to open its flower unless the sun is on it and then it just goes.
I have many planted into the dancing lawn. This time of year the grass is shaggy and it means I cannot start mowing it for several weeks to let the crocus gain enough strength to keep going year on year, but I love it when it is bejewelled by crocus.
I shall end with another crocus poem, as I like to think of them of laughing 'tossing their brilliant heads' as they go, its a fine end.
This morning, flowers cracked open
the earth’s brown shell. Spring
leaves spilled everywhere
though winter’s stern hand
could come down again at any moment
to break the delicate yolk
of a new bloom.
The crocus don’t see this as they chatter
beneath a cheerful petal of spring sky.
They ignore the air’s brisk arm
as they peer at their fresh stems, step
on the leftover fragments
of old leaves.
When the night wind twists them to pieces,
they will die like this: laughing,
tossing their brilliant heads
in the bitter air.
(Christine Klocek-Lim http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/blkloceklimspring.htm)