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

The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility.

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.

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

Through tall cowslips nodding near you, Just to touch you as you pass.