The March Nosegay

The bonny March morning is beaming      In mingled crimson and grey,      White clouds are streaking and creaming      The sky till the noon of the day;      The fir deal looks darker and greener,      And grass hills below look the same;      The air all about is serener,      The birds less familiar and tame.      Here's two or three flowers for my fair one,      Wood primroses and celandine too;      I oft look about for a rare one      To put in a posy for you.      The birds look so clean and so neat,      Though there's scarcely a leaf on the grove;      The sun shines about me so sweet,      I cannot help thinking of love.      So where the blue violets are peeping,      By the warm sunny sides of the woods,      And the primrose, 'neath early morn weeping,      Amid a large cluster of buds,      (The morning it was such a rare one,      So dewy, so sunny, and fair,)      I sought the wild flowers for my fair one,      To wreath in her glossy black hair.