Classic Poem

The sulphur hued primrose
Is out i' the Lane
The morning less dim glows
The sunshine again
Gleams warmer & warmer
Down the mossy fringed lane
And the voice o' Loves charmer
Singing birds wake again.

The shaded lanes dirty
The ruts dribble on
And the sludges splash spirty
Where waggons have gone
My kind love supposes
And where the Bees hum
Round the roots o' primroses
I think they might come

To see women walking
At the spring o' the year
I the primroses talking
Is something so dear
To the joys o' the season
I think it divine
And wish with good reason
Such companion was mine

The old Cow is followed
By the maidens glad eye
Butterflyes sulphur coloured
She sees gadding bye
And the small Tortoise shell
When the primroses bloom
By the woodside will tell
When the warmer days come.