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 twoI 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 Cuckow-flower:Of the lofty DaffodilMake your bed, and 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 behindWhen the pretty flowerets die;Pluck them, and another yearAs many will be blowing here.

God has given a kindlier powerTo the favoured Strawberry-flower.When the months of spring are fledHither let us bend our walk;Lurking berries, ripe and red,Then will hang on every stalk,Each within its leafy bower;And for that promise spare the flower!