The laggard year is now at prime
And primrose-time is daffodil-time;
Where do the boys delay? What tether
Hinders them from the heavenly weather,
From violet-time and cowslip-time?
Why do they keep the house so late?
The sweet o' the year is at the gate,
And hear the cuckoo calling, saying:
Up, slug-a-bed! 'Tis time for Maying!
The cuckoo calling early and late.
They have stolen away before the dawn,
No print in the May-dew on the lawn
Betrays the way their light feet taking
Set not the quaking grass to shaking,
Running so light-foot in the dawn.
The primrose and the daffodil weather
Is here, and cowslips troop together;
The lambs frolic in pastures gold,
But since they come not it is cold.
Cold the primrose and daffodil weather.
