Tis spring; come out to ramble The hilly brakes around, For under thorn and bramble About the hollow ground The primroses are found. And there's the windflower chilly With all the winds at play, And there's the Lenten lily That has not long to stay And dies on Easter day. And since till girls go maying You find the primrose still, And find the windflower playing With every wind at will, But not the daffodil, Bring baskets now, and sally Upon the spring's array, And bear from hill and valley The daffodil away That dies on Easter day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLACE FOR A THIRD by ROBERT FROST TO AN EARLY DAFFODIL; SONNET by AMY LOWELL SLEEPING TOGETHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE MAN WITH THE HOE OUTWITTED by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |