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: #4A3021
RGB: 74 48 33
RGB: 74 48 33
HEX: #9C6D56
RGB: 156 109 86
RGB: 156 109 86
HEX: #F06D5A
RGB: 240 109 90
RGB: 240 109 90
HEX: #E0AC87
RGB: 224 172 135
RGB: 224 172 135
HEX: #E1D5B5
RGB: 225 213 181
RGB: 225 213 181
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.
