by Nora McFarlane
There’s a grassy slope not far away
Where thousands of Narcissus bloom,
And I catch my breath, as I watch them sway
Tossing their sweet perfume.
Gaily they nod their dear little heads
And smilingly welcome me,
As they spring up fresh from their winter beds,
Eager for company.
Their round white faces fair and clean
Are purer than frost or snow,
And I thank the hands, tho’ now unseen;
That planted them, long ago.