The little brown bulbs went to sleep in the ground.
In their little brown nighties, they slept very sound,
And Winter he raged and roared overhead,
But never a bulb turned over in bed.
But when Spring came tip-toeing over the lea,
Her finger on lip, just as still as could be,
The little brown bulbs at the very first tread,
All split up their nighties and jumped out of bed.
— Margaret Prescott Montague.