[Picture: Nosegays]
Through many a long and winding lane,
My wand’ring feet have stray’d;
While yet the drops of early rain
Were sparkling on the blade.
Along the hedge I bent my way,
Where roses wild are seen;
Or cowslips peeping out so gay
Among the tangled green.
Or primrose, with its pucker’d leaf
And simple early bloom;
Or violet, hiding underneath
The hedge’s shady gloom.
With finger wet with morning dew,
And torn by many a spray,
My roses red, and violets blue,
I bound in posies gay.
Before the sun has risen high,
And all their colours fade,
Come, lady fair, my posies buy,
Of modest wild-flow’rs made.