A.E. Housman (1859–1936)

’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.