Foresight

That is work of waste and ruin—

Do as Charles and I are doing!

Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,

 We must spare them—here are many:

Look at it—the flower is small,

 Small and low, though fair as any:

Do not touch it! summers two

I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the primrose, sister Anne!

Pull as many as you can.

—Here are daisies, take your fill;

 Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower:

Of the lofty daffodil

 Make your bed, or make your bower;

Fill your lap and fill your bosom;

Only spare the strawberry-blossom!

Primroses, the Spring may love them—

Summer knows but little of them:

Violets, a barren kind,

 Withered on the ground must lie;

Daisies leave no fruit behind

 When the pretty flowerets die;

Pluck them, and another year

As many will be blowing here.

God has given a kindlier power

To the favoured strawberry-flower.

Hither soon as spring is fled

 You and Charles and I will walk;

Lurking berries, ripe and red,

 Then will hang on every stalk,

Each within its leafy bower;

And for that promise spare the flower!