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: #313131
RGB: 49 49 49
RGB: 49 49 49
HEX: #97CE44
RGB: 151 206 68
RGB: 151 206 68
HEX: #C2E83C
RGB: 194 232 60
RGB: 194 232 60
HEX: #D8DECE
RGB: 216 222 206
RGB: 216 222 206
HEX: #FFFFFF
RGB: 255 255 255
RGB: 255 255 255
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.
