Classic Poem

Fairy fingers o' the Frost,
Whatsoever may be lost,
Spare the blossoms of that tree
Whose red blooms are life to me,—
Even the blooms of Memory!

In Life's garden it stands—There,
Braving storm and wintry air;
When Life's scattered blooms I see
Trampled where the black storms be,
Faithful still to Memory.

Fairy fingers o' the Frost,
Let not these dear blooms be lost!
Pass them by all pityingly,—
Let the May their mother be
In a land of Memory!