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: #0F0E23
RGB: 15 14 35
RGB: 15 14 35
HEX: #2C7F88
RGB: 44 127 136
RGB: 44 127 136
HEX: #0C2A2D
RGB: 12 42 45
RGB: 12 42 45
HEX: #F3C667
RGB: 243 198 103
RGB: 243 198 103
HEX: #92F6D5
RGB: 146 246 213
RGB: 146 246 213
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.
