Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2239/To a Hyacinth in an April Storm

by J. B. S.

Poor broken flower, in this vile tempest whirled,
     What prompteth thee to such untimely birth,
     To be so soon down-trodden in the earth,
Before thy pearly petals had unfurled
The bells that ring in springtime to the world?
     Thou would'st have brought us welcome, and with mirth
     Led all our thoughts away from winter's dearth,
Had fate but left thy beauty unimperilled.

In this sad world, thine is a common fate,
     A world in which the gentlest heart fares worst,
Borne down. by the intolerable weight
     Of kindness unregarded, or accurst;
Its labor spurned, its love disconsolate
     As thine, fair flower! The purest perish first.