The Spring is at the door: 
She bears a golden store, 
Her maund with yellow daffodils runneth o'er.

Her rosy feet are bare, 
The wind is in her hair, 
And O her eyes are April eyes, very fair.

After her footsteps follow
The mullein and the mallow;
She scatters golden powder on the sallow.

She brings the crocus white, 
And golden aconite: 
She brings desire and doubting and delight.