Like Crusoe, walking by the lonely strand 
And seeing a human footprint on the sand, 
Have I this day been startled, finding here, 
Set in brown mould, and delicately clear, 
Spring's footprint--the first crocus of the year! 
O sweet invasion! Farewell solitude! 
Soon shall wild creatures of the field and wood 
Flock from all sides with much ado and stir, 
And make of me most willing prisoner!