THE LENT LILY
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Tis spring; come out to rambleThe hilly brakes around,For under thorn and brambleAbout the hollow groundThe primroses are found. And there's the windflower chillyWith all the winds at play,And there's the Lenten lilyThat has not long to stayAnd dies on Easter day. And since till girls go mayingYou find the primrose still,And find the windflower playingWith every wind at will,But not the daffodil, Bring baskets now, and sallyUpon the spring's array,And bear from hill and valleyThe daffodil awayThat dies on Easter day.
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