Ah, quite alone these April days

It blossoms to evoke my praise;

And hyacinthine scents are shed

To bless and cheer me, hither led.

Upon this sheltered, upland knoll,

At early dawn I often stroll;

White clusters edged with crimson hue

Lie here, impearled with crystal dew.

The leaves, like memories, evergreen,

The blooms, like truth, of purest sheen;

The cup within, like some fair breast

Where holy thoughts can surely rest.

How worthy of its meek renown!

Delightful gem for beauty’s crown.

O’er it with joy can poet brood;

It breathes of God in solitude.

—George Bancroft Griffith.