I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill
Such bright gold under my window-sill!
Is it fairy gold? Does it glitter still?
Bless me! it is but a daffodil!
And look at the crocus keeping tryst
With the daffodil by the sunshine kissed.
Like beautiful bubbles of amethyst
They seem, blown out of the earth's snow-mist.
And snowdrops' delicate fairy bells
With a pale green tint like the ocean swells;
And the hyacinths wearing their perfumed spells!
The ground is a rainbow of asphodels!
Who said that March was a scold and a shrew?
Who said she had nothing on earth to do
But tempest of fairies and rags to brew?
Why, look at the wealth she has lavished on you!
O March that blusters and March that blows,
What color under your footsteps glows!
Beauty you summon from winter snows,
And you are the pathway that leads to the rose.