Classic Poem

Jonquils and violets smelling sweet
In this grey, unblossoming street —
These to our midwinter bring
The first frail beauty of the Spring.

Sixpence — sixpence for the Spring —
For south wind and bird on wing —
Pennies for a priceless thing!

Glory of flower cups, flower eyes,
Wild, soft grace under iron skies,
Deathless in the gift they bring,
Though they die at evening.

Sixpence — sixpence for the Spring!