A little Lenten poetry

The Lent Lily

'Tis spring; come out to ramble 

The hilly brakes around, 

For under thorn and bramble 

About the hollow ground 

The primroses are found. 

And there's the windflower chilly 

With all the winds at play, 

And there's the Lenten lily 

That has not long to stay 

And dies on Easter day. 

And since till girls go maying 

You find the primrose still, 

And find the windflower playing 

With every wind at will, 

But not the daffodil, 

Bring baskets now, and sally 

Upon the spring's array, 

And bear from hill and valley 

The daffodil away 

That dies on Easter day. 

Alfred Edward Housman