Bowing snowdrops, weeping snowdrops,
Why in winter do ye bloom,
When birds hop about in gloom?
Then hang cold and frozen dewdrops,
All the hedges mixed with grey,
Then no more the catkins play
In the warming sun of day.
Small white snowdrops, drooping low,
Why do you shoot in the cold
When no other is so bold
And on the ground is melting snow?
Then the red-breast limply hops,
While the crow with steady flops
Hurries home to bare tree-tops.