There I halted. Further down the
hollow
Stood the township, where my errand lay.
Firm my purpose, till a voice cried
(Follow!
Come this way—I tell you—come this
way!)

Silence, Thrush! You know I think of
buying
A Spring-tide hat; my frock is worn and
old.
So to the shops I go. What's that you're
crying?
(Here! Come here! And gather primrose
gold.)
Well, yes. Some day I will; but time is
going.
I haste to purchase silks and satins fair.
I'm all in rags. (The Lady's Smock is
showing
Up yonder, in the little coppice there.)

And wood anemones spread out their
laces;
Each celandine has donned a silken gown;
The violets are lifting shy sweet faces.
(And there's a chiff-chaff, soft, and slim, and
brown.)

But what about my hat? (The bees are
humming.)
And my new frock? (The hawthorn's
budding free!
Sweet! Oh, so sweet!) Well, have your
way. I'm coming!
And who's to blame for that? (Why, me!
Me! Me!)