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: #8B6A29
RGB: 139 106 41
RGB: 139 106 41
HEX: #E68B2F
RGB: 230 139 47
RGB: 230 139 47
HEX: #F46B09
RGB: 244 107 9
RGB: 244 107 9
HEX: #D8B262
RGB: 216 178 98
RGB: 216 178 98
HEX: #CCD6B4
RGB: 204 214 180
RGB: 204 214 180
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.
