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.