The Summer Nosegay.

Now the yellow cowslips fade,

All along the woody walk;

And the primrose hangs her head

Faintly, on her tiny stalk;

Let us to the garden go,

Where the flow’rs of summer grow.

Come, and make a nosegay there,

Plucking every flower that blows:

Brier sweet, and lily fair,

That along the valley grows;

With a honeysuckle red,

Round the shady arbour led.

Then a budding rose or two,

Half in mossy leaves enroll’d,

With the larkspur red and blue,

Streaky pink, and marigold:

These shall make our posy gay,

In the cheerful summer day.