IN despite of the cold and the gloom, <br />To ornament summer's bleak tomb, <br /> Blooms the snowdrop; and lo! at the sight, <br /> Sad Flora is thrilled with delight, <br />And exults in the moments to come. <br /> <br />In despite of the sneers of the proud, <br />To garnish my hope's ebon shroud, <br /> Glows thy tear-drop; and lo! I'm possessed <br /> Of Flora's rich feelings, when blest <br />With the sight of the first of her brood. <br /> <br />But once having granted my fill <br />Of sympathy's heart-cheering rill,— <br /> Beloved! refrain; it were base, <br /> To sweep yon sweet rose from its vase <br />That the thistle might blossom at will.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sympathy-32/
