Shayari Bazar

So Spring comes merry towards me here, but earnsNo answering smile from me, whose life is twindWith the dead boughs that winter still must bind,And whom today the Spring no more concerns.Behold, this crocus is a withering flame;This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossoms partTo breed the fruit that breeds the serpents art.Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them,Nor stay till on the years last lily-stemThe white cup shrivels round the golden heart.