THE CROCUSES in the Square
Lend a winsome touch to the May;
The clouds are vanished away,
The weather is bland and fair;
Now peace seems everywhere.
Hark to the raucous, sullen cries:
-Extra! extra!�-tersely flies
The news, and a great hope mounts, or dies.

About the bulletin-boards
Dark knots of people surge;
Strained faces show, then merge
In the inconspicuous hordes
That yet are the Nation-s lords.
-Extra! extra! Big fight at sea!�
Was the luck with us? Is it victory?
Dear God, they died for you and me!

Meanwhile the crocuses down the street
With heaven-s own patience are calm and sweet.