Now will I weave white violets, daffodils | |
| With myrtle spray, | |
| And lily bells that trembling laughter fills, | |
| And the sweet crocus gay: | |
| With these blue hyacinth, and the lover’s rose | 5 |
| That she may wear— | |
| My sun-maiden—each scented flower that blows, | |
| Upon her scented hair. | |
Right. Now I can get on about how I delivered the flowers and got my clothes clean. |
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