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: #21252E
RGB: 33 37 46
RGB: 33 37 46
HEX: #FF8778
RGB: 255 135 120
RGB: 255 135 120
HEX: #E42535
RGB: 228 37 53
RGB: 228 37 53
HEX: #FAD42B
RGB: 250 212 43
RGB: 250 212 43
HEX: #FFDCAC
RGB: 255 220 172
RGB: 255 220 172
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.