March Nosegay


The bonny march morning is beaming,
In strange and crimson grey;
White clouds are streaking and creaming,
In the sky till the noon of the day:
The fir dale looks darker and greener
And the grass hills below look the same
The air all about is serener
And the birds less familliar and tame.


Here's two or three flowers for my fair one
Wood-primroses, and celandine too
I oft look about for a rare one
To put in a poesy for you
The birds look so cleanly and neatly
Though there's not a leaf on the grove
The sun shines about me so sweetly
I cannot help thinking of love.


So where the blue violets are peeping
By the warm sunny side of the woods
And the primrose 'neath early morn weeping
Amid a large cluster of buds
The morning it was such a rare one
So dewy so sunny and fair
I sought the wild flowers for my fair one
To wreath[e] in her black glossy hair.
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