The cowslip is a country wench.

The nesh yonge coweslip bendethe wyth the dewe.

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.

And ye talk together still, In the language wherewith Spring Letters cowslips on the hill.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be. In their gold coats spots you see: Those be rubies, fairy favors; In those freckles live their savors.

Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.