All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.

He likes the poor things of the world the best, I would not, therefore, if I could be rich. It pleases him t stoop for buttercups.

When buttercups are blossoming, The poets sand, 'tis best to wed: So all for love we paired in Spring-- Blanche and I--ere youth had sped.

Against her ankles as she trod The lucky buttercups did nod.

Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.

The royal kingcup bold Dares not don his coat of gold.