The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea.
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Still the air is chill and raw,
Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud
In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring."
HEX: #363F48
RGB: 54 63 72
RGB: 54 63 72
HEX: #F26E21
RGB: 242 110 33
RGB: 242 110 33
HEX: #FFD602
RGB: 255 214 2
RGB: 255 214 2
HEX: #2D839E
RGB: 45 131 158
RGB: 45 131 158
HEX: #65CCA9
RGB: 101 204 169
RGB: 101 204 169
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair, and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.
