Classic Poem

When violets and primroses bloom on the plain
How happy on Sundays I walk with my swain
Down the mossy wood side And the fields white thorn quick
Where the brook flows so clear And the flowers grow so thick

There's the curly wool'd lambs with their lilly white skin
Keep running their races while none of them win
The cowslip breaks off from their feet where they run
And lies on the ground till its killed by the sun

Now they lye neath the ash tree that stays not the sun
But stops out the wind they are anxious to shun
And sleep where the violets are smelling so sweet
On the bank by the hedge in the suns pleasant heat

Where violets and primroses bloom on the plain
How happy on Sundays I walk with my swain
When the curl coated lambs at their gambol's are seen
O'er the greensward that spring warms and kindles to green