TO DAFFODILS. Do paint the meadows with delight, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, Mocks married men, for thus sings he : Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! William Shakspeare. TO DAFFODILS. FAIR daffodils! we weep to see As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon : Until the hastening day But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you; 2 17 As quick a growth to meet decay, As your hours do; and dry Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning dew, Robert Herrick. TO BLOSSOMS. FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Your date is not so past But you may stay yet here awhile What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? But you are lovely leaves, where we Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. Robert Herrick. TO PRIMROSES. 19 TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? That mars a flower; Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years; Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known Ye droop and weep. Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or, that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? No, no; this sorrow, shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read: "That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.' Robert Herrick. THE PRIMROSE. WELCOME, pale primrose! starting up between Dead matted leaves of ash and oak, that strew The every lawn, the wood, and spinny through, Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green; How much thy presence beautifies the ground! How sweet thy modest, unaffected pride Glows on the sunny bank, and wood's warm side! And where thy fairy flowers in groups are found, The school-boy roams enchantedly along, Plucking the fairest with a rude delight; While the meek shepherd stops his simple song To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight; O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truly bring The welcome news of sweet returning Spring. John Clare. SONG: ON MAY MORNING. Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, John Milton. SONG TO MAY. 21 SONG TO MAY. MAY! queen of blossoms, Shall we charm the hours? Thou hast no need of us, Thou hast thy mighty herds, Tame, and free livers; Doubt not, thy music too In the deep rivers; And the whole plumy flight, Up at the gates of light, When with the jacinth Coy fountains are tressed; |