Classic Poem

‘Are these the buttercups so gay
I thought they bloomed in merry May
Beside the fragrant clover?’
No, these are celandines, my child;
This March the weather is so mild
They stud the fields all over.

The buttercups unlike to them
Are raised upon a lofty stem
And seem to stare about them:
The celandines are lowly flowers
In early Springtime they are ours,
We scarce could do without them.

Perchance they think the daisy meek
When earth is chill and suns are weak
Should have some friend to cheer her;
And so before the meads are fine
Beside her bed the celandine
Doth make a sunshine near her.