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: #7F230C
RGB: 127 35 12
RGB: 127 35 12
HEX: #604019
RGB: 96 64 25
RGB: 96 64 25
HEX: #291000
RGB: 41 16 0
RGB: 41 16 0
HEX: #BE6521
RGB: 190 101 33
RGB: 190 101 33
HEX: #957E38
RGB: 149 126 56
RGB: 149 126 56
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.
