Classic Poem

Here she was wont to go, and here, and here!
Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow.
The world may find the spring by following her,
For other print her airy steps ne'er left:
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk;
But like the soft west wind she shot along,
And where she went the flowers took thickest roo
As she had sowed them with her odoruos foot.