Firm my purpose, till a voice cried
(Follow!
Come this way -- I tell you -- come this
way!)

Silence, Thrush! You know I think of
buying
A Spring-tide hat; my frock is worn and
old.
So to the shops I go. What's that you're
crying?
(Here! Come here! And gather primrose
gold.)
Well, yes. Some day I will; but time is
going.
I haste to purchase silks and satins fair.
I'm all in rags. (The Lady's Smock is
showing
Up yonder, in the little coppice there.)

And wood anemones spread out their
laces;
Each celandine has donned a silken gown;
The violets are lifting shy sweet faces.
(And there's a chiff-chaff, soft, and slim, and
brown.)

But what about my hat? (The bees are
humming.)
And my new frock? (The hawthorn's