FORESIGHT.

That is work which I am rueing— Do as Charles and I are doing! Strawberry-blossoms, one and all, We must spare them—here are many: Look at it—the Flower is small, Small and low, though fair as any: Do not touch it! summers two I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne! Pull as many as you can. —Here are Daisies, take your fill; Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower: Of the lofty Daffodil Make your bed, and make your bower; Fill your lap, and fill your bosom; Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!

Primroses, the Spring may love them— Summer knows but little of them: Violets, do what they will, Wither'd on the ground must lie; Daisies will be daisies still; Daisies they must live and die: Fill your lap, and fill your bosom, Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!