Explore "Spring Morning" by Frances Darwin Cornford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Now the moisty wood discloses / Wrinkled leaves of primèroses, / While the birds, they flute and sing: / Build your nests, for here is Spring.
All about the open hills / Daisies shew their peasant frills, / Washed and white and newly spun / For a festival of sun.