The Freesia Flower by Albert Durrant Watson Have you heard the tiny trumpets That the little freesias blow When the whimsies of the winter Toss in whirlwinds of the snow? Only pure and gentle spirits Can the dainty music hear When the freesia blows her trumpets In the morning of the year; But the faint and dulcet voices Drifting to the heavens above Murmur with harmonious gladness Raptures of a lyric love; And their breath is rich as Eden, Making all the flowery air Like a summer in a forest Or the incense of a prayer.