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: #1E191D
RGB: 30 25 29
RGB: 30 25 29
HEX: #5F1E24
RGB: 95 30 36
RGB: 95 30 36
HEX: #D23D43
RGB: 210 61 67
RGB: 210 61 67
HEX: #5A715D
RGB: 90 113 93
RGB: 90 113 93
HEX: #ADCFAC
RGB: 173 207 172
RGB: 173 207 172
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.
